She stared at his pleading face. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Well, that’s the situation. “Kick aht at ‘em!” though, indeed, she went now with Christian meekness, resenting only the thrusting policemen’s hands. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. Her disapproval was obvious enough. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy.
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