"Yes, of course, and father opened that one, and, though he might have looked at a dozen others without comprehending their meaning, he knew the meaning of that one at once," she said.
And her face set again like the nether millstone.
She had no pity for Malcolm, she did not even in that moment of awful bitterness give him credit for one spark of decent feeling. She hardly observed that he was trembling like an aspen and that his face had grown haggard about the mouth, like that of an old man.
"Isla, I want that letter. I must have it," he said in a low voice.
She heard him as she heard him not, and his tone became more desperate.
"Did you read it, Isla?"
"No."
"Will you read it?"
"No."
"Then give it to me."