Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. ’ ‘Had the advantage of her this time,’ Roding put in before Gerald could respond. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. It’s kind of the World War II thing.
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