“I couldn’t help it. I told you no good would come of it. Wood turned to look at him. " The spinsters stared at her blankly. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. 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. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. .
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