She may not be quick, but I'm sure she tries." "I can't help it," he said rather pitiably.

"I go off like it." "You don't mind me, Miriam, do you ?" he asked of the girl later.
"No," she reassured him in her beautiful deep tones--"no, I don't mind." "Don't mind me; it's my fault." But, in spite of himself, his blood began to boil with her.

It was strange that no one else made him in such fury.

He flared against her.
Once he threw the pencil in her face.

There was a silence.