"It's always the same, he keeps us under, and makes our lives a misery till we do something mad. He's only got himself to thank for this. We're all the slaves of his tedious farm——"
"I should rather say 'abominable,'" Anne interrupted gently.
"His abominable farm—he gets every bit of work out of us he can, till we're justabout desperate——"
"Till we're absolutely desperate."
"And he expects us to care for nothing but his vulgar ambitions. Oh Lord! I wish I was out of it!"
"Perhaps you will be out of it some day."
He shrugged.
"How should I get free?"
"Perhaps a friend might help you."
He looked into her face, then suddenly crimsoned—then paled, to flush again: