"I see your point of view."
"You do if you have eyes. Think of that perfect angel—but just say Grace Noir and you've called all the virtues. And her in his house!—"
"You still believe in angels?" inquired Abbott gravely.
"Yap; and devils with long sort-of-curly hair, and pretty womanish faces, and voices like molasses."
"But Fran wants Mrs. Gregory spared—"
"Abbott, when I think of Grace Noir spending one more night under the roof of that burrowing mole, that crocodile with tears in his eyes and the rest of him nothing but bone and gristle—"
"Bob, if I assure you that Miss Noir will never spend another day under his roof, will you agree to keep this discovery to yourself?"
"You can't make no such assurance. If she ain't put wise to what branch of the animal kingdom he twigs to, she'll not leave his roof."
"Bob, if she leaves that house in the morning, for ever, won't you agree to silence, for Mrs. Gregory's sake—and because Fran asks it?"
"Fran's another angel, bless her heart! But you can't work it."