Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. ” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. ’ ‘What for?’ asked Gerald, half laughing, as he put his hand in his pocket and brought out his elegant pistol. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all.
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