"If I promise, I promise.

I have said--yes." "How is your bad knee ?" she asked after a time, with an attempt to be of service to him.

"You've never told me." "Swoll up twict as big as it ought to be, ma'am.

But how come you to think of that?
_You_ mustn't mind about me.

You mustn't never think of me a-tall." "Now," he continued a little later, the place seeming insufferably small to him all at once, "I think I've got to get out in the air." He pushed over his box seat with much clatter as he rose, agony in every fiber of his soul.
"I suppose you could kiss me," said Mary Warren, hesitatingly.
"It's--usual." She tried to smile as she turned her face toward him.
It was a piteous thing, a terrible thing.
"No, ma'am, thank you.