It was neither good nor bad. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. To prevent the leaves from blowing about, should a blow develop, he distributed paper weights. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. Wood's house was broken into and plundered. “I want to ask you a question,” he said. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered.
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