The thought made her exquisitely happy. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ” “You meant to say ‘morbid’. The Reaper is not sated yet. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. ” He ducked out. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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