” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. I shouldn't care to express an opinion. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. Don't worry about me. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. " "I'm satisfied with your assurance," replied the carpenter, drily.
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