” It was settled. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. Everything was done in the most legal and imposing way, but the whole thing was a fraud. "Arrest!" vociferated Wood.
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