“You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. But he afterwards acted upon the suggestion. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. Disengaging his right arm, Jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow on the head with the bludgeon, that fractured his skull; and, exerting all his strength, threw him over the rails, to which he clung with the tenacity of despair. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. You need not be afraid. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. He had taken it back. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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