As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. "To me?" gasped Winifred. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild.
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