"What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. “Beats me. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. And she’s pluck to the backbone. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. ” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously.
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