“I don’t know where to go to. He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car. "I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. . . You will wonder why he did not hold the pearls until Father returned. "I feel like work," he lied. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. But we get over it.
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