“Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. 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. "Yes. ’ ‘So would you run away,’ she uttered impulsively. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky.
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