He visualized Mr. Urquhart and Jason surveying his dead face. Would someone⁠ ⁠… the “automatic young lady,” perhaps⁠ ⁠… have closed his staring eyes before those two looked at him? A fish hooked out of season! “He ought to have taken my advice,” Jason would say, “and gone back to that lord in London!”

A phosphorescent Redfern began to manifest itself now in that unruffled water⁠ ⁠… a Redfern with no features left!

“This may be,” he thought, “the exact spot where he stood.”

A spasm of shame oppressed him, that he should be so preoccupied with himself that the weight of all that boy’s sufferings meant so little to him. Well, clean out of it now was Jimmy Redfern! But that did not erase the invisible pattern of misery traced upon the air at this spot.