Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Its parents have perished. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. “After all, it’s our honeymoon. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her.
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