They were young, and--mayn't we allow--they were beautiful.

That's often a good deal to do with these accidents.

They met and, God help them, they loved." "No--no--" Damaris cried again.
Yet she kept her hands on Faircloth's shoulders, clinging to him in the excessive travail of her innocent spirit--though he racked her--for sympathy and for help.
"For whom, after all, did you take me ?" he repeated.

"If there wasn't considerable cause it would be incredible you should make such a mistake.
Can you deny that I am hall-marked, that the fact of my parentage is written large in my flesh ?" He felt her eyes fixed on him, painfully straining to see him through the rain and darkness; and, when she spoke again, he knew she knew that he did not lie.
"But wasn't it wrong" she said.
"I suppose so.

Only as it gave me life and as I love life I'm hardly the person to deliver an unbiased opinion on that point." "Then you are not sad, you are not angry ?" Damaris presently and rather unexpectedly asked.
"Yes--at times both, but not often or for long together.