Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. The one I have is a duplicate. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. . . Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE.
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