"I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. "That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. Ah, no, I have it wrong. That’s my advice to you. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. She stopped eating. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.
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