He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. ” She stopped. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. I can see that you were somebody, in another day. It could not be a legal marriage. One OUGHT to want to please her.
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