The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. “I wish. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. “That’s what we narcs have to do.
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