Happy Thanksgiving. ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily. " "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. " "All right, then. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. I’m turning into a big fat cow. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said.
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