Sometimes he had to struggle
against insane longings to take her into his confidence, and compel
her to do her fair share of the job--to say, slap out, "It's you, my
lady, who've landed me in this tight place; so the least you can do is
to help pull me into open country."
Moreover, as the days and nights passed, instincts that were more
human and natural made him crave for re-union. He yearned to be
friends with her again. He felt that if he could safely make it up,
cuddle her as he used to do, hold her hands and arms when he went to
sleep, he would derive fortitude and support against his fear, even
if he obtained no aid from her in dodging the law.
He thought during the inquest that the fear had reached its climax.
Nothing that could come in the future would be as bad as this. Yet all
the time he was telling himself, "There is no cause for the fear. It
is quite baseless. All is going as nice as nice."
Indeed, if he had conducted the proceedings himself, he could not have
wished to arrange anything differently. The whole affair was more like
a civilian funeral service--a rite supplemental to the church
funeral--than a businesslike inquiry into the circumstances and
occasion of a person's death.
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