She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. It would be swindling. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. " "Probably not. He is steeped in the conventions.
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