On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. It did not seem quite fair. "But trifle with mo no longer. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened.
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