Then they had tried Schevleningen for a week, where, he said in a tone of some injury, they had rather thought they might find them, the Marches.

The air had been poison to him, and they had come over to England with some notion of Bournemouth; but the doctor in London had thought not, and urged their going home.

"All Europe is damp, you know, and dark as a pocket in winter," he ended.
There had been nothing about Burnamy, and March decided that he must wait to see his wife if he wished to know anything, when the general, who had been silent, twisted his head towards him, and said without regard to the context, "It was complicated, at Weimar, by that young man in the most devilish way.

Did my daughter write to Mrs.March about--Well it came to nothing, after all; and I don't understand how, to this day.

I doubt if they do.