Panic gave him strength, and
he addressed Miss March, who was looking more like a modern Joan of Arc
than anything else on earth, firmly.
"Miss March," he said, "I realize that this is a crisis, and that we
must all do all that we can for the paper, and I am ready to do
anything in reason--but I will not slip it into Percy. You have seen
the effects of slipping it into Percy. What he or his minions will do
if we repeat the process I do not care to think."
"You are afraid?"
"Yes," said Roland simply.
Miss March turned on her heel. It was plain that she regarded him as a
worm. Roland did not like being thought a worm, but it was infinitely
better than being regarded as an interesting case by the house-surgeon
of a hospital. He belonged to the school of thought which holds that it
is better that people should say of you, "There he goes!" than that
they should say, "How peaceful he looks".
Stress of work prevented further conversation. It was a revelation to
Roland, the vigor and energy with which Miss March threw herself into
the breach. As a matter of fact, so tremendous had been the labors of
the departed Mr.
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