The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. “You stupid bitch. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. I never hunt the human tiger without being armed. .
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