Profoundly. Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. .
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