But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. “Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known. “Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper.
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