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Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. “John, don’t!” she cried. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct.
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