Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. Now what I want you to feel is this. He lifted her from the floor. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said. “Take off your tunic.
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