Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. Basically a kindly man but made cynical and derisive by sordid contacts, O'Higgins had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as unselfishness. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. “There are two things to be done,” he said softly to himself.
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