She held up the lamp. "Only Jack's two wives—Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot," replied Austin, laughing. "The key," replied the widow. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. Give me this picture. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses.
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