"Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. ‘And if it is true that you love me, I do not know why it is that you do not kiss me again at once. Some day I may forgive you; but not now. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. "You forget that you promised me a kiss the last time you were here. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. E.
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