And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. It felt too good.
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