God forgive you!" "May He, indeed, forgive me!" returned Trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; "but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped. They are used to me, they only cry because they have become so used to being here. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. “My God!” he said again. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. I was orphaned a long time ago.
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