"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. It was—in connection with this man Hill. “Well,” she admitted. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. The ladder was now within reach. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. "I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven't polished yet. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing.
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