"How do I look?" I asked.

"You know how, and that I do not agree with your opinion. You look
cruel."

"I am cruel hungry."

Her eyes sparkled with disdain.

"What do you mean to do for a year?" I continued.

"Forget you, for one thing."

"I hope you wont be ill again, Verry."

"I shall be," she answered with a shudder; "I need all the illnesses
that come."

"As for me," I said, biting my bread and butter, "I feel well to my
fingers' ends; they tingle with strength. I am elated with health."

I had not spoken the last word before I became conscious of a streak
of pain which cut me like a knife and vanished; my surprise at it was
so evident that she asked me what ailed me."

"Nothing."

"I never had the feeling you speak of in my finger ends," she said
sadly, looking at her slender hand.