“She doesn’t know. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. " "My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. In that case I'll help you.
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