” He sat like a man turned to stone. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. Almost light-heartedly. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. "Put your arms about me. 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics.
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