young Verrall, and Lord Redcar--the latter holding up his long
skirts of fur, and making a grotesque figure--one behind the other,
in full bolt across a coldly comet-lit interval, towards the open
gates of the colliery.

I raised myself up on my hands.

Young Verrall!

I had not even drawn my revolver--I had forgotten it. I was covered
with coaly mud--knees, elbows, shoulders, back. I had not
even drawn my revolver! . . .

A feeling of ridiculous impotence overwhelmed me. I struggled
painfully to my feet.

I hesitated for a moment towards the gates of the colliery, and then
went limping homeward, thwarted, painful, confused, and ashamed.
I had not the heart nor desire to help in the wrecking and burning
of Lord Redcar's motor.



Section 4

In the night, fever, pain, fatigue--it may be the indigestion of
my supper of bread and cheese--roused me at last out of a hag-rid
sleep to face despair. I was a soul lost amidst desolations and
shame, dishonored, evilly treated, hopeless. I raged against the
God I denied, and cursed him as I lay.