“Why not?” He asked. I waited for her at the back. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. He seemed to her indistinguishably about her father’s age. She laughed a little contemptuously.
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