‘Not kill me, I mean. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. ‘She’s wearing a lightskirt’s clothing?’ ‘Nothing obviously so, I assure you. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. My only love is for my poor lost son. At length, after he had given up the point from sheer exhaustion, the Amazon seized him by the throat, and pushed him backwards with such force that he rolled over the counter. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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