"I'd been with him that night I met you, and I was frightened, I tell you. I'd been mad with fright."
"Why? What had he done to you?"
Julian strove to conceal his eager interest under a light assumption of carelessness.
"Done!—never mind. It don't do to talk about it."
She laid her thin hand on his arm, as if impelled to be confidential.
"Do you believe in people being struck?" she said.
"Struck! I don't understand."
"Struck," she repeated superstitiously. "Down, from up there?"
Her eyes went up to the ceiling, like the child's when it thinks of heaven.
"Was he?" Julian asked.