"My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. “I’m not going to kill you, John. . " "But a man may love his wife!" cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. “We will try and make you happy, my dear, so that you may learn that lovemaking is perhaps a little more than your idea of a woman’s duty. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening.
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