" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. But I can't account for it!" "At all events, you shall answer for it," thundered Wild, with a bitter imprecation. “Julian! I was worried that. You’ve got to take what you can get. ” “Sure, anything you want. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed.
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