“And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. Good riddance. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. He asked her whether she understood what she was saying, and went on to say still more precisely that she should never touch a penny of his money until she came home again—not one penny. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, carelessly.
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