But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. I think that you might break Martin’s heart if you don’t. “Of course, I remember now. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. Give way, and let us render what assistance we can to the poor wretch. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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