And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ’ ‘I have English a little,’ the girl offered, her voice shaking as she essayed a smile and sank into a curtsy. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. You are not my husband. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. She drove me. That is very certain. Their poor hands!” “I know,” said Mr. Come!” They went out together and he called a hansom. "Show me your warrant!" said Wood, almost driven to his wit's-end; "perhaps it isn't regular?" "Ask him who he is?" suggested Thames.
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