But she knows; a knowledge that will sweep her into the fire of action,
whilst he is methodically buckling on his armour of conviction with
the straps of logical evidence.
It was this instinct, the sixth sense in Sally, that had cast her
mind forward, flung it beyond herself into the future, where she saw
the Tragedy that awaited her. From the moment she had seen that kiss,
she had known that she had an enemy whose weapons were sure, whose
wielding of them was quick and keen. From that moment, standing on
the rise of so small, so insignificant an incident, she had seen ahead
into the years and known what her end would be. With what evidence?
None! With what reason? Little indeed of that. That they were
standing with swords drawn when she had left the room and that when
she returned the swords were sleeping in their scabbards and they
were kissing to make friends--how much was there to be reasoned from
that? Were not such incidents common to the relationship between
brother and sister? Yet, beyond all that, Sally saw with a clearness
of vision that penetrated every obvious deduction; saw away into the
stretch of Time when his sister would have won him back to her side
where she could have no place, no existence.
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