A CHILD OF THE JAGO
went off into another train of thought. He had a throbbing, wavering headache, the outcome of thinking so hard about so many things. They were small things, and had nothing to do with his own business; but there were so many of them, and they all had to be got through at such a pace, and one thing led to another.
Ever since they had taken him he had been oppressed by this plague of galloping thought, with few intervals of rest when he could consider immediate concerns. But of these he made little trouble. The thing was done. Very well, then, he would take his gruel like a man. He had done many a worse thing, he said, that had been thought less of.
The evidence was a nuisance. What was the good of it all? Over and over and over again. At the inquest, at the police court, and now here. Repeated, laboriously taken down, and repeated again. And now it was worse than ever, for the
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