Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. 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 have a different game to play; and it'll be your own fault, if you don't come off the winner. " "I am so," replied Thames, who had followed him closely. . For on reaching the second floor, a swishing sound came to Gerald’s ears, as of someone moving about. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. “H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage.
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