“And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. On the present occasion, in anticipation of Mr. I—well, I lost my temper. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. Wood, in a taunting tone. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded.
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