He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered.
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