It cannot be you that they speak of like that!'
Then he insists on my telling, displeas'd
At any concealment, What have I heard?
Worried and wearied, bewilder'd and teaz'd,
I blurt it out and repeat every word!
Harry regards me with almost a stare—
Pulls his moustache with a sort of amaze—
Passes his hand through his clustering hair
And—bursts out laughing, as if it was praise!
There is nothing so sweet or full of grace