She twanged the catgut under her fingers. Remember that he’s not at all a bad sort, and to speak frankly, he’s your salvation. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. He was an imaginative young man. She listened, listened intently for several minutes.
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