“Well it is a kind of ilness but very odd and you will not catch it” he said. “And I think it was a trick tho’ meant well by the limerick-poet as you will see.”
[104] “How so?” said Selia very bold for she would have tore his enemys in half.
“Well to cut a long story short, I have got a kind of hidden passion which is nawing at my heart, and that is why I cannot write any more poems.”
“What did the Doctor do to you” urged she eager to get to the point and hear the worst, “did he operate?”
“No he was very kind” said Harold propping himself up a bit against his pillows “and it took me a long while to get the hang of it all. He told me I have been under a strane and feared I was ill and wished to ask me a few questions. Said he leaning back and making cats cradles on his pink fingers, “
have you anything on your mind?”
So of course says I, “No.”
At that he shot me a serpentine glance.
“Now my good man” said he “just let your mind ease out and answer me at random.”
[105] “