"I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity. While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. Anna herself opened the hall door. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. After a while he spoke again. See what you have made of me. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. But I was portentous, I can assure you. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo.
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