You must forgive the poet’s license I take. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. “I’m not nearly so sure as you. "You dropped this, sir. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. ” Sir John seated himself deliberately. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind.
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