“Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. But this was long ago.
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