And then I reflected that she was used to it.

"Would nothing less do for once ?" "You don't mean that I should give way--do you ?" asked Fyne in a whisper of alarmed suspicion.
As this was exactly what I meant, I let his fright sink into him.

He fidgeted.

If the word may be used of so solemn a personage, he wriggled.
And when the horrid suspicion had descended into his very heels, so to speak, he became very still.

He sat gazing stonily into space bounded by the yellow, burnt-up slopes of the rising ground a couple of miles away.
The face of the down showed the white scar of the quarry where not more than sixteen hours before Fyne and I had been groping in the dark with horrible apprehension of finding under our hands the shattered body of a girl.