Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. “Compromise—and kindness. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer.
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