She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. ” Annabel no longer attempted to conceal her emotion. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. She loved for him to regale her with the stories of his past, the days of ancient Greece. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. "I've a good deal to do. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned.
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