" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. " Just then, the infant began to sob piteously. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either.
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