‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. The back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed.
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