" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. I cannot turn into a bat. It fell with a clatter to the floor. davidevansbailey. ” She looked thoughtfully into the fire. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales.
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