” “Cooped up!” he cried. Besides, he was a Yale man. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. And many of these deaths could be avoided if it were not for superstition. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair.
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