"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. There you are! Girl spoilt for life. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. You will survive, mark my words. You see, I’m separated from my wife. " "If I thought so—" cried the knight fiercely; "but this is idle," he added, suddenly checking himself. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction.
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