There was nothing to be done.

Her thoughts told her so no less clearly than his face.

Here was a life spoilt at the beginning.

But that was all that she saw.

That the spoilt life might become an instrument of evil--she was blind to that possibility: she thought merely of the youth who suffered and still must suffer; who was crippled by the very means which were meant to strengthen him: and pity inclined her towards him with an ever-increasing strength.
"I couldn't do it," she repeated silently to herself.