She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. She had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood. “You will have some tea?” she asked. The account of the discovery of Sir Rowland's murder filled Winifred with alarm; but when she learnt what had befallen Thames—how he had been stricken down by the thief-taker's bludgeon, and left for dead, she uttered a piercing scream, fainted, and would have fallen, if Jack had not caught her in his arms. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. The highest form of knowledge was magic: the priesthood. So, not exactly hopefully but earnestly, she returned to the feet of God.
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