" "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. “You may find in it a paragraph of some interest to you. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension.
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