‘Point it at me. I want to leave it for ever. I love. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. Griffin. ” He replied solemnly, looking straight into her eyes. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. ” “Do you still love him?” “Just the opposite.
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