At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. I must have been very wound up. I merely mention these circumstances to show the accuracy of my information. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. I want to be whatever I can to you. You understand. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. "Whatever your intelligence may be I will strive to bear it.
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