He was disquieted. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. I guess we could go for a ride. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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