"Now there's only Auna of them four—Margery's children."
"I had very near given up hoping for Auna; but that was wrong. Of all the souls I've helped to bring in this world, Auna's the only doubtful one, and I'm going to fight again in that quarter."
"She cleaves to her father, and he's dragging her up to that den on the moors. A very wrong thing, mother."
"Very wrong, and little hope for Auna till we get her away. The time may come. She's much in my mind."
"I went to Plymouth last week to buy a few odds and ends—not for myself—and I looked in and had a dish of tea with Uncle Lawrence. He's getting a lot older, I find, and a lot less peart than he was. Margery's death hit him very hard."
"No it didn't. He's too steadfast to be hit by the death of a saved soul. He's up home seventy, and his heart is weak, because he lived a very hard life in early manhood following the sea."
"Seventy's nothing for a Pulleyblank. I wonder what he's done with his money, now that poor Margery's gone home."
"I couldn't tell you."
"By rights, me being nearest, I ought to have it."
"He may see it like that."