Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. His sister followed. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. Besides, I thought you despised killing women. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone.
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