The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. There is light enough from the sun,’ she said, relieved. However, to cut a long matter short, my proposal's this: —I've taken a fancy to your bantling, and, as I've no son of my own, if it meets with your concurrence and that of Mrs. It’s a world in which the law can be a stupid pig and the police-stations dirty dens. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. I’ve made no one happy.
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