Then the children all crouched round the warmth, while Marcella rubbed their cold hands and feet, and "mothered" them.

Shaken as she was with emotion and horror, she was yet full of a passionate joy that this pity, this tendance was allowed to her.

The crushing weight of self-contempt had lifted.

She felt morally free and at ease.
Already she was revolving what she could do for Hurd.

It was as clear as daylight to her that there had been no murder but a free fight--an even chance between him and Westall.