“Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony. I could never make you understand. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. " "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. It’s your way of glossing over the ethical position.
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