‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. Brendon,” she said, “if I could ask for advice, or borrow money from any one, I would from you—there! But I cannot. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. The longest I can go is about three months, but I try and eat once a month. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Reluctantly she found him beguiling after he had eaten. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes.
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