But the new tragedy had rendered the memory less poignant.
"It's a dreadful thing about the Colonel, sir," said Marigold as we drove off.
"More dreadful than anyone can imagine," said I.
"What he's going to do with himself is what I'm wondering," said Marigold.
What indeed?
The question went infinitely deeper than the practical dreams of Marigold's philosophy.

My honest fellow saw but the outside--the full-blooded man of action cabined in his lifelong darkness.

I, to whom chance had revealed more, trembled at the contemplation of his future.

The man, goaded by the Furies, had rushed into the jaws of death.

Those jaws, by some divine ordinance, had ruthlessly closed against him.