F. Wood and Thames pass him, and followed at a foot's pace behind them. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her.
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