Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. I do want them. And he liked her. I thought that you were he. To my loving parents and brothers, and my Aunts, Gail and Barb.
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