“No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. “What was that?” she asked sharply. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching. I hope you have learned your lesson now and come to see—come to realize—how things are. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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