Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. ” Chapter XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED “You!” David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room with outstretched hands. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. The thought made her exquisitely happy. By this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of Jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. Better to remain silent.
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