“It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. Restraining with an effort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her.
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