The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. A sinister thought edged in. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. Wood in the deepest mourning. ” “It’s gone. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. ” “Not for you?” “No. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude.
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