“Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age. Take it, I tell you. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. Oh, you must believe me. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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