He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. "Alone?" "Not exactly, Sir. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. The booming voice and the energetic movements spoke plainly of hurry.
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