"Sit down. I want to read to you."
"I am afraid I haven't time."
"You had time for Brooks. If you don't let me read to you I shall have to sit all alone—in the dark—my eyes are hurting me."
"Why don't you ask Dr. Brooks about your eyes?"
"Is Dr. Brooks the oracle?"
"He could tell you about your eyes."
"Does he tell you about yours?"
With a scornful glance she left him, but he followed her. "Why shouldn't he tell you about your eyes? They are lovely eyes, Mistress Anne."
"I hate to have you talk like that. It seems to separate me in some way from your friendship, and I thought we were friends."
Her gentleness conquered his mad mood. "Oh, you little saint, you little saint, and I am such a sinner."