I am not that kind.

We have got into this, and I am ready and willing to do all I can." "I meant what I wrote," whispered Maria again.

"I never want you to tell, and--" "And what ?" "I wish you would go and sit somewhere else, and not speak to me again.

I hate the very sight of you." "All right," said the boy.

There was a slight echo of rancor in his own voice, still it was patient, with the patience of a man with a woman and her unreason.