" "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. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street. Then the work is optional; they go on their own. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous. "I feel like work," he lied.
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