You see, I’m selfish. " "A clever device," replied Jonathan; "but it won't serve your turn. Wood; "that's the surest way!" "No! no! give it me!" vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Constantly sick with the croup or diaper rash. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door.
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