Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. “Let me introduce you to Caesar,” he said; and she patted Caesar’s neck, and remarked how soft his nose was, and secretly deplored the ugliness of equine teeth. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. “Your home is very. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him.
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