‘I can’t, Abner . . . not now,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t think: I can’t feel. Oh, why didn’t he kill me . . . why didn’t he kill me?’ He would have lifted her to her feet, but she lay a dead weight in his arms. All power of volition had left her. She sank back again limply, shaking her head from side to side. Her hair had become loose. It hung down over her shoulder. Abner felt that he must do something to break the paralysing spell that held them. ‘I’m going, Mary,’ he said. ‘I can’t stay. Let me help you up! Come along now!’ She shook her head. ‘It’s no use, Abner.’ ‘There’s naught left for you here that I can see. It’s only you and the kids I want to look after.’ She could only go on sobbing: ‘It’s no use . . . it’s no use!’ ‘Well, I’m no judge. Maybe yo’m right,’ he said. He turned from her and went upstairs to collect a few of his belongings. On his way down again Gladys came timidly to the door of Mary’s room and called his name. Her piteous fragility touched him. He took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘Where are you going, Abner?’ she whispered. ‘Where’s mam?’ He picked the child up and carried her to her cot, telling her that she must be a good girl and go to sleep. Morgan was sitting up with his fingers in his eyes, crying mechanically. ‘You look after our Morgan till mam comes,’ he told her. He came down into the kitchen. ‘Mary . . .’ he said. She did not answer. He went to her and put his arms round her neck. ‘Good-bye, lass,’ he said. Her sobbing increased, but she would not raise her head. He wanted to pick her up in his arms as he had picked up Gladys, to carry her away with him; but he knew it was useless. He kissed her again, then rose and went to the door, closing it softly behind him. The cold air revived him. He drew it gratefully into his lungs. He was conscious of a strange physical lightening, as though a material load had slipped from his shoulders. The Twenty-Fifth Chapter BEHIND him Wolfpits lay brooding in the moonlight on its departed life. He did not turn to look at it, and in half an hour had reached the main road. He did not know where he was going, but turned mechanically toward the east, the quarter from which he had first entered the hills. At present it was not in him to strike out a way for himself; he could do no more than retrace his steps. He walked fast, impelled by an unconscious energy, and all the time one dominant thought possessed his brain. ‘Curse women! Curse all women! Curse the bloody lot of them!’