“I want to know how she addresses you and signs herself, and what the substance of it’s like, and how many sheets she sends you.”
“How many does she send you?”
“Curious, too, are you? Exchange, then.”
“Not much. Suppose she called you darling and me only dear?”
“By Heaven, Lucian, I shouldn’t wonder if I murdered you in my sleep some night!”
“Did you say in your sleep or in mine?” Lucian put in.
“I’d not do it in my senses, for I’ve no wish to be hanged for murder; but, I tell you, I can’t get the thought of those letters of yours out of my head. And when the will’s in abeyance the body sometimes works of itself. You keep your door locked: mind, I’ve warned you.”
“Upon my solemn honour, old Farquhar, you are a savage!” exclaimed Lucian.
“Take the thing away, then; keep it out of my sight!”
“I guess you’d read it if you found it lying about?”