Merely waited—nothing more.
“Tailor,” cried I. “Imp of evil! Tailor still, or else the Devil,
Whether Satan sent thee—whether ’bus thy body hither bore;
Standing in thy frock-coat braided on my carpet very faded—
Having this my den invaded, tell me truly, I implore.”
Is there, is there trust no longer? Tell me, truly, I implore.”
Quoth the tailor, “Nevermore!”
F. B. Doveton.
“Joe” after Poe.