“For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. He has told me sufficient of you—" "My dear," interposed Wood, "for goodness' sake—" "I will speak," screamed his wife, totally disregarding the interruption; "I will tell this worthless creature what I know about her,—and what I think of her. Her fingers rested upon his. I’d need to be out of my senses. “Well,” she admitted. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back. “It’s the spring,” he said. Jackson.
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