And what a miserable fire you've got here! You have agreed with me that we are acting for the best.

It's very hard on me I try what I can to make you comf--happy; and really, to see you leaving your dinner to get cold! Your hands are like ice.

The meat won't be eatable.

You know I'm not my own master.

Come, Dahly, my darling!" He gently put his hand to her chin, and then drew away the handkerchief.
Dahlia moaned at the exposure of her tear-stained face, she turned it languidly to the wall.
"Are you ill, my dear ?" he asked.
Men are so considerately practical! He begged urgently to be allowed to send for a doctor.
But women, when they choose to be unhappy, will not accept of practical consolations! She moaned a refusal to see the doctor.
Then what can I do for her?
he naturally thought, and he naturally uttered it.
"Say good-bye to me," he whispered.