“TROUSERS!” she whispered. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. Here is one verse. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. ‘Ah, the tragedy. ” “You can’t be that,” said Ann Veronica, wisely. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating.
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