I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. " Jack made no answer, nor did he even cast his eyes upon his follower. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. \"Thanks for lending me the clothes. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. " The object of this discussion sat motionless.
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