It was the beautiful wild thing that only a mad person with nice thoughts could do.

But when she was ill, I played with it, for I had nothing else to do; it was desecration." "I thought you were like the child that was lost.

I think you are like her." "She thought so, too; she used to think sometimes that I was her little daughter grown up.

It was very strange, living with her; I almost think I might have gone mad, too, if I hadn't played with you." It was very strange, Caius thought, that on this day of all days she should be willing to talk to him about herself, should be willing to laugh and chat and be happy with him.

The one day that he dare not listen long, that he must disturb her peace, was the only time that she had seemed to wish to make a friend of him.
"When you lived so near us," he asked, "did you ever come across the woods and see my father's house?
Did you see my father and mother?
I think you would like them if you did." "Oh, no," she said lightly; "I only knew who you were because my aunt talked about you; she never forgot what you had done for the child." "Do not turn your horse yet." He allowed himself to be urgent now.