“I don’t believe there is one. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. "Of course, I haven't the least evidence that the boy has done anything wrong; it's what I'd call a hunch; piecing this and that together. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. 59 He was not present during the night the next morning, or the next, or the next. Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all.
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