"Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. ” The idea struck him as novel. "What shall I do? If I persist, I shall destroy her. ” She turned herself to one side and propped her head in her hand. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. "A little suffering will do him good.
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