“How are those books any different from the witchcraft books?” “I dunno. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. ’ She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. I am bothered. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. "Then I presume you've not been arrested?" "I have not," answered Wood firmly. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. Some foul murder has been committed. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth.
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