“I do not blame him. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. It would make the young wife unhappy. Drink the toast, Jack. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. Pistols and pictures? Now it fair goes agin’ me nature to act rough with a lady, but you’ll come along of me at once.
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