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Then to the Dean's Head, in St. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. I'll try a strong dose. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. As if God would not continue to mock him so long as his brain held a human thought! God had given him a pearl without price, and he had misunderstood until this day.
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