“I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. You can if you will. ” Her breath left her for a moment.
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