‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. “Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. As soon as they had got out, the vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. “It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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