His face had been dark purple: now it was white.
"No--Ellen Jorth," he panted, "I don't--want any of you--that way." And suddenly he sank on the log and covered his face with his hands.

"What I loved in you--was what I thought--you were." Like a wildcat Ellen sprang upon him, beating him with her fists, tearing at his hair, scratching his face, in a blind fury.

Isbel made no move to stop her, and her violence spent itself with her strength.
She swayed back from him, shaking so that she could scarcely stand.
"Y'u--damned--Isbel!" she gasped, with hoarse passion.

"Y'u insulted me!" "Insulted you ?..." laughed Isbel, in bitter scorn.

"It couldn't be done." "Oh! ...