He closed the book with a snap.
"Why, Henry, ain't you going to finish it ?" "No, I ain't.

I'm going back to the shop to work." "Henry Whitman, you ain't!" "Yes, I am.

As for pottering round here, and trying to get up an interest in things I ought to have begun instead of ended in, and setting round reading books that I can't keep my mind on, and if I do, just get madder and madder, I won't.

I'm going back to work with my hands the way I've been working the last forty years, and then I guess I'll get my mind out of leading-strings." "Henry Whitman, be you crazy ?" "No, but I shall be if I set round this way much longer." "You don't need to do a mite of work." "You don't suppose it's the money I'm thinking about! It's the work." "What will folks say ?" "I don't care what they say." "Henry Whitman, I thought I knew you, but I declare it seems as if I have never known you at all," Sylvia said.

She looked at him with her puzzled, troubled eyes, in which tears were gathering.