Chapter 35
Up the same course which Jacqueline followed, Mary Brown had
fled earlier that night with the triumphant laughter of Jack still
ringing in her ears and following her like a remorseless, pointed
hand of shame.
There is no power like shame to disarm the spirit. A dog will
fight if a man laughs at him; a coward will challenge the devil
himself if he is whipped on by scorn; and this proud girl shrank
and moaned on the saddle. She had not progressed far enough to hate
Pierre. That would come later, but now all her heart had room for
was a consuming loathing of herself.
Some of that t*****e went into the spurs with which she punished
the side of the bay, and the tall horse responded with a
high-tossed head and a burst of whirlwind speed. The result was
finally a stumble
