He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. Wood set off at full speed from the Mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him. Remarking that they struck off at a turning on the left, he took the same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. I’ve had it, Sheila. I do not know how I shall get it, but I must, you understand.
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