“Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. Always as black and bitter as gall. You won't refuse me, I'm sure; so no more need be said about the matter. At the same time, I must say that I am most anxious to improve my acquaintance with her. “I wish he had,” she said. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. “Afterwards,” she said, “I should be perfectly content to have everything done for me.
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