"And now," said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) "you will no longer defer my happiness. " "Silly love stories?" "No; love wasn't the theme. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it. Then, naturally, I went on talking. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo.
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