‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. “I’m d——d if I understand this,” he said thoughtfully.
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