He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. \"Actually, John, I really must get going. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. The tears flowed faster.
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