" "Very right, my love," said Wood, "very sensibly remarked. " "Do so," replied Kneebone; "but remember the door is locked. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Beneath that tree let us lie.
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