” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. ” “I know. ” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you. Hill lost a little of his truculency. The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crowbar. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. " "I should like to satisfy myself on that score," rejoined Wild, drily.
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