We already had a place to mislay blame. Not for me. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. He was astonished. ‘Jacques, do not go!’ Jack gazed steadfastly at the floor. She had fallen asleep. I did not reckon upon—him. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing.
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