" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. Wait a second. She kissed his neck and licked him there. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. That’s my point.
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