"You are all right?"—anxiously. "You didn't spend it?" "I never intended to spend it—any more than I really intended to steal it. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. A town called Foster. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Independently of other risks, and of the chance of breaking his neck in the descent, he was aware that to reach the leads he should have to break open six of the strongest doors of the prison. She thought she had hidden well from him.
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