“Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. She felt she must suffocate if these men did not put her down, and for a time they would not put her down.
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