"You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. But his own situation was too perilous to admit of his rendering any assistance to the ill-fated waterman. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted.
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