Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. I love. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. The completest capitulation would not wipe out that trouble. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable.
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