He looked distant, irritated. Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. " The Wastrel rushed. Wild is sure to be up. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come.
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