“It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. ” He glanced over at her cockeyed, and then returned his gaze to the road. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. "Tell me frankly, and speak under your breath. “Nothing. Now then. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. A terrible spectacle was presented to the young man's gaze:—the floor deluged with blood—the mangled and lifeless body of Mrs. Montague Hill. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. Wood, "it may be poisoned.
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