“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. Celestial Uncles! Spurlock chuckled, and a bit of chestnut, going down the wrong way, set him to coughing violently.
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