"Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. What have you got to say?" "Too much," replied Kneebone, shaking his head; "sadly too much. ” Sir John frowned. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts.
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