She recalled him. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. Some of these persons were examining the spot where the spike had been cut off; others the spike itself, now considered a remarkable object; and all were marvelling how Jack could have possibly squeezed himself through such a narrow aperture, until it was explained to them by Mr. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. We WERE thieves.
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