As soon as the service was over, Thames contrived to approach him, and whispered, "Be cautious,—the funeral will take place after evening service. " "It is," replied Jack. The audience clapped more heartily. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. You are my prisoner, murderer. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself.
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