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“I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things. How's that strike you?" "Very well, sir. " "Do not speak of it," rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. "I can't say I did," replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late. There isn’t. I have been imaging—” “Mr.
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