Drink'll make a man do anything."
"His kind are never sorry for what they do," commented Dennis bitterly.
"They're sorry for what comes from what they do, but not for the doing of
it. I can't think the thing out. It makes me sick. I was hunting for him
to kill him; I was watching this town like a lynx, and I've been and gone
and saved his body from Hell on earth."
"Well, perhaps you've saved his soul from Hell below," said Fleda. "Ah,
come! Your face and hands are burned, your hair is scorched--your clothes
need mending. Arabella is waiting for you. Come home with me to
Arabella."
With sudden resolve Dennis squared his shoulders. "All right," he said.
"This thing's too much for me. I can't get the hang of it. I've lost my
head."
"No, I won't come, I can't come now," said Ingolby, in response to an
inquiring look from Fleda.
"Not now, but before sundown, please."
As Fleda and Dennis disappeared, Ingolby looked back towards the fire.
"How good it is to see again even a sight like that," he said. "Nothing
that the eyes see is so horrible as the pictures that come to the mind
when the eyes don't see. As Dennis said, I can't get the hang of it, but
I'll try--I'll try."
The burning of Gautry's tavern had been conquered, though not before it
was a shell; and the houses on either side had been saved.
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