The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you. I'll try to think better of him in future.
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