It was part of the harshness of her fate that she should understand him so much better than the others did.
But she herself had not realised how hardly he would take it.
"I didn't--I couldn't--" "There's the dog-man," he stammered.

"He'll have stolen him." Then he was off out of the room in an instant.
And that was more than Mary could hear.

She realised, even as she followed him, that she was giving her whole case away, that she was now, as always, weak when she should be strong, soft when she should be hard, good when she should be wicked, wicked when she should be good.

She could not help herself.

With trembling limbs and a heart that seemed to be hammering her body into pieces she followed him out.