Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. "Not before it's needed," returned Jack, aloud; adding in a whisper, "get upon my shoulders, Thames. You have been burning paper, I see. Tell me why you ran away from the convent. His voice had broken. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. Spurlock looked up. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. Utter silence answered him. The child was still safe. “It’s your birthday today, May Day.
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