She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. "Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. "Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe.
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