"You've got him?" demanded Ireton. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. ” “I can’t go back to the Beck’s ever again. Take your half loaf with the others. I felt his heart. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. ” Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a possible knowledge of a probable poem. Of you, I mean.
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