The Female of the Species

Even now, after three months' calm thought, I sometimes feel that I must have dreamed thewhole thing. I say to myself that this is England: that I am sitting at lunch in my club hopingthat that gluttonous lawyer Seybourne will not take all the best part of the Stilton: thatunless I get a move on I shall be very late at Lord's. I say all that just as I always used to sayit-particularly about Seybourne. And then it suddenly comes over me-the events ofthose amazing days.I don't suppose anybody will believe me: I wouldn't believe the story myself if somebodyelse told it to me. As I say, I sometimes think it must be a dream. And then I turn back myleft sleeve nearly to the elbow and look at a three-inch scar, still red and angry, though it'shealing nicely now. And I know it was no dream.Was it a joke? If so, it was the grimmest and most desperate jest that has ever been cracked, and one wherein the humour was difficult to find. Moreover, it was a joke that would havebrought the propounder of it to the gallows-had we but been able to catch her. For therewas a woman at the bottom of it, and women can suffer the death penalty in England formurder