Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. She began to act. The transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Refused admittance, they broke open the door. Say I will come to him. ‘You are mad, if you think he will give you a sou. ‘Courage,’ urged her spouse. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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