Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. Wood, "and I'm sorry and surprised he hasn't swung for his crimes before this.
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