I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you. She will not confide in me. . Wood turned to look at him. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets.
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