Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. “Sure, I guess so. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it.
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