Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. The others hurried to the window. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. There was a hint of tears in her voice. That’s got his nerves to rags. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it.
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