“I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. I want to be whatever I can to you. Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings.
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