"Well, reckon I do feel sorry—and reckon, too, I done something to be sorry for.... Oh, Lawrence, what a wicked owl I've been! If you'd told me six year ago as I'd ever have come to this I'd have had a fit on the ground."
Lawrence looked round him nervously. Whatever Joanna's objections to private penance, she was curiously indifferent to confessing her sins to all mankind in Charing Cross station. The platform was becoming crowded again, and already their confessional had been invaded—a woman with a baby was sitting on the end of it.
"Your train will be starting soon," said Lawrence—"let's go and find you something to eat."
§33
Joanna felt better after she had had a good cup of coffee and a poached egg. She was surprised afterwards to find she had eaten so much. Lawrence sat with her while she ate, then took her to find her porter, her luggage and her train.
"But won't you lose your train to Africa?" asked Joanna.
"I'm only going as far as Waterloo this morning, and there's a train every ten minutes."
"When do you start for Africa?"
"I think to-night."
"I wish you weren't going there. Why are you going?"