She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. Stanley wanted to object strongly, but as he could not immediately think how to put it, he contented himself with a grunt, and the motion was carried. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery.
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