He uttered a short laugh. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. Yield up the babe, and I pledge my word you shall remain unmolested.
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