Then she buried her face in the bristling neck of Adolphus, the Chow dog, and declared him to be her last remaining consolation.
Even Anastasius Papadopoulos had ceased to visit her.

I uttered words of comfort.
"I have left you Dale at any rate." She smiled enigmatically through her tears.
"I'm not ungrateful.

I don't despise the crumbs." Which remark, now that I come to think of it, was not flattering to my young friend.
But what is the use of thinking of it?
My fire is burning low.

It is time I ended this portion of my "Rule and Example of Eumoiriety," which, I fear, has not followed the philosophic line I originally intended.
The die is cast.

My things are packed.