"The fire's all out, so there's nothing more I can do here, I guess." "Oh, but you'll have to bring Josephine back!" Kate's eyes met his straightforward glance reluctantly, and not without reason; for Ford had dark, greenish purple areas in the region of his eyes, a skinned cheek, and a swollen lip; his chin was scratched and there was a bruise on his forehead where, on the night of his marriage, he had hit the floor violently under the impact of two or three struggling male humans.
Although they were five days old--six, some of them--these divers battle-signs were perfectly visible, not to say conspicuous; so that Kate Mason was perhaps justified in her perfectly apparent diffidence in looking at him.

So do we turn our eyes self-consciously away from a cripple, lest we give offense by gazing upon his misfortune.
"_I_ can't carry her, and she can't walk--her ankle is sprained dreadfully.

So if you'll bring her back to the house, I'll be ever so much--" "Certainly; I'll bring her back right away." Ford came down the stairs so swiftly that she retreated in haste before him, and once down he did not linger; indeed, he almost ran from the house and from her embarrassed gratitude.

On the way to the bunk-house it occurred to him that it might be no easy matter, now, for Mason to conceal Ford's identity and his sins.

From the way in which she had stared wincingly at his battered countenance, he realized that she did, indeed, have ideals.
Ford grinned to himself, wondering if Ches didn't have to do his smoking altogether in the bunk-house; he judged her to be just the woman to wage a war on tobacco, and swearing, and muddy boots, and drinking out of one's saucer, and all other weaknesses peculiar to the male of our species.