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Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. McClintock will be tuning up the piano to-day.
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