" "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. A curious silence ensued. "I can't make you understand; I can't make you see things as I see them. We’re regarded as inflammable litter that mustn’t be left about. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her. Very well. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so. ‘How do you do? I am so happy to meet you. ’ But she reckoned without the fellow Trodger. Her lips were dry and cracked. I may tell him, at any rate, that you will see him?” “I shall like to see him,” Anna answered.
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