THE MAID OF THE MILL
"Sir"—he began. The other continued in his rough, thick voice:
"Do you suppose they don't try to scream? Do you suppose they don't think they're screaming?"
A little silence of discomfort fell on the circle. There was something disagreeably suggestive in the question. Suddenly the man spoke again.
"I had a friend," he said, "in fact, I had two friends. One was young—about your age," nodding to Sanford. "The other was older. He was not so clever nor so attractive nor so brilliant nor so jolly as the younger, but he had a characteristic—perhaps his only one—for he was a very ordinary man. He had an iron will. His determination was as unbreakable as anything human could be. And he was devoted to his friend, who, somehow, loved him. I don't know why, because he had so many other admirers—but he stuck to his friend—Joan. They called the two Darby and Joan. Their real names were not unlike those, and it was rather funny. Darby used to talk as you were talking, sir," he nodded again to Sanford, "and he was sure, cock sure, that what he said was right. He
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