’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. The period of repression was over. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. . “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. The blue jaws suggested courage and tenacity. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional. I offer you my assistance on certain terms. Rattles were sprung; lanterns lighted, and hoisted at the end of poles; windows thrown open; doors unbarred; and, as if by magic, the street was instantaneously filled with a crowd of persons of both sexes, armed with such weapons as came most readily to hand, and dressed in such garments as could be most easily slipped on. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble.
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