There were no mourners. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. “I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife.
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