“I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. “Tell your sister she was right to shoot, quite right. In any event, I would not have let her escape me so easily. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. ” “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He accused. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. I wanted you to know. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally.
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