Socknersh, big and stooping, like some lonely beast of the earth and
night.... A strange fear touched Joanna--she tottered, and his arm came
out to save her....

It was as if Marsh itself enfolded her, for his clothes and skin were
caked with the soil of it.... She opened her eyes, and looking up into
his, saw her own face, infinitely white and small, looking down at her
out of them. Joanna Godden looked at her out of Socknersh's eyes. She
stirred feebly, and she found that he had set her a little way from him,
still holding her by the shoulders, as if he feared she would fall.

"Do you feel better, missus?"

"I'm all right," she snapped.

"I beg your pardon if I took any liberty, missus. But I thought maybe
you'd turned fainty-like."

"You thought wrong"--her anger was mounting--"I trod on a mole-hill.
You've messed my nice alpaca body--if you can't help getting dirt all
over yourself you shouldn't ought to touch a lady even if she's in a
swound."

"I'm middling sorry, missus."

His voice was quite tranquil--it was like oil on the fire of Joanna's
wrath.

"Maybe you are, and so am I. You shouldn't ought to have cotched hold of
me like that. But it's all of a match with the rest of your doings, you