Wood could stand it no longer. She could not part with dignity. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. ” “Quite. ” She declared. And then her pace slackened. If she has no children, she goes on loving her husband; but he is no longer a man but a child. ‘But you know. Then he opened them again suddenly, to find Courtlaw still by his side. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. But go on.
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