“My eyes,” repeated Lawless reflectively; “yes: 'I am become indifferent to everything; I take no pleasure in the new dog-cart, King in Long Acre is building for me, with cane sides, the wheels larger, and the seat, if possible, still higher than the last, and which, if I am not very much out in my reckoning, will follow so light—'”
“I can't write all that trash about a dog-cart,” interrupted Freddy crossly; “that's worse than the fox-hunting; stick to your feelings, man, can't you?”
“Ah! you little know the effect such feelings produce,” sighed Lawless.
“That's the style,” resumed Coleman with delight; “that will come in beautifully—'such feelings produce'; now, go on.”
“'At night my slumbers are rendered distracting by visions of you—as—as——'”
“'The bride of another,'” suggested Coleman.
“Exactly,” resumed Lawless; “or, 'sleep refusing to visit my——'”
“'Aching eye-balls,'” put in Freddy. “'I lie tossing restlessly from side to side, as if bitten by——'”
“'The gnawing tooth of Remorse;' that will do famously,” added his scribe; “now tell her that she is the cause of it.”
“'All these unpleasantnesses are owing to you,'” began Lawless.