"But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. ” She said. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. 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. Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” was the only phrase to express her. Her nurse says she may live some time; but she seems to me to be sinking fast. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. Sheppard.
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