E. ’ He held his hands out of the way, surrendering his chest for her assault. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. He refused. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. ” “You could never be that,” he answered, “but you are at least more serious than usual. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. ” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench.
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