Yon rising Moon that looks for us again—
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden—and for ONE in vain!
Latimer was saying it without the book and with a queer smile that made me feel I hadn't quite caught on.
"Thank you, that will do," he went on. "That is enough, Miss—" He stopped.
I waited.
He did not say "Omar."
I looked him square in the eye—and then I had enough.
"But what in the devil did you make believe for?" I asked.
He smiled.
"If ever you come to lie on your back day and night, year in and year out, and know that never in your life will it be any different, you may take pleasure in a bit of excitement and—and learn to pity the under dog, who, in this case, happened to be a boy that leaped over the gate as though his heart was in his mouth. Just as you would admire the nerve of the young lady that came out of the house a few minutes after in your housekeeper's Sunday gown."
Yes, grin, Torn Dorgan. You won't grin long.