"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between ourselves I am not sure about it myself. It is good sometimes to walk with a man who can look God squarely in the face, as you can. You do not believe me. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself.
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