For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. ” She raked into the fire with the poker. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. A narrow entry, formed by two low walls, communicated with the main thoroughfare; and in this passage, under the cover of a penthouse, stood Wood, with his little burthen, to whom we shall now return. She bent down. “Please forgive me. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. ' Will that do?" "It will," replied Trenchard. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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