Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. Regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,—regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell. It had been very peaceful in the little cave for countless years.
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