“It is part of the irony of life,” he said. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. This occasioned a little delay; but Jack, whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out a panel by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from the other side, and unlocked the door. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. Jack Kimble. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family.
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