"I have dreamed that I shall see him before I die," she rejoined. “I supposed that he took off his hat to you. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. It’s not you—not a bit. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force.
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