To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. A pig, yes, a little. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. " Mr. You know as well as I do that it was accident. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. Wood, when he does return, I'd send him about his business.
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