” His shoulders relaxed. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. "I'll fetch it.
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