I want to get away—to go to London. She exited solemnly, retrieving and carrying Michelle’s unconscious figure into the forest like a reluctant bridegroom. She had agonized over it for weeks. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. I’m sorry. There came to O'Higgins the discouraging knowledge that upon the heels of a wonderful chase—blindman's buff in the dark—would come a stretch of dull inaction. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it.
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