‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. She did not know Mr. “Mid-thirties. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant.
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