It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. “I am sorry for the way I acted, Lucy. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. It is not at all comme il faut. “You pushed the wheel from my hand. "I shall be back presently," replied Thames, evasively.
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