" "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. I ought to be able to think things out. "Your health, Kneebone. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do.
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