" "Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has had enough. Give me but leave to try. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. John knew everybody, it seemed. You and the girl have made it soft for him, and I'm going to make it soft for him. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said.
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