"Did you write it?" "No. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. I have been waiting a long time for a family like them. ’ Jack gasped. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. 155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster.
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