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"See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. Sheppard, shuddering violently. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. “Julian, please, let’s go to your place. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. ‘No. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. ‘Certainly you are imbecile. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect.
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