The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. "You mistake,—you are mine. E. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently.
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