‘But, said she tremulously, ‘suppose your sin was not of your own seeking?’
He shook his head.
‘I cannot split hairs on that burning query’, he said. ‘I have walked hundreds of miles during this past summer, painting these texes on every wall, gate, and stile in the length and breadth of this district. I leave their application to the hearts of the people who read ’em!’
‘I think they are horrible,’ said Tess, ‘Crushing! killing!’
‘That’s what they are meant to be!’ he replied in a trade voice. ‘But you should read my hottest ones—them I kips for slums and seaports. They’d make ye wriggle! Not but what this is a very good tex for the rural districts. . . . Ah—there’s a nice bit of blank wall up by that barn standing to waste. I must put one there. Will you wait, miss?’
‘No,’ said she; and taking her basket Tess trudged on. A little way forward she turned her head. The old gray wall began to advertise a similar fiery lettering to the first, with a strange and unwonted mien, as if distressed at duties it had never before been called upon to perform.
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