She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “Any choice as to which of the Halls? You can pick and choose, you know. " "I'm afraid I don't understand. ” For a fraction of a second the two young men hesitated. But Jack speedily burst it open with the iron bar. CHAPTER VIII.
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