Five-and-forty years old--would you like to taste it?
Would you like to taste it, my dear ?" Mrs.Gallilee seized the "Railway Guide" again, with a terrible look.

Her husband crammed the big flask into one of Ovid's pockets, and the cigars into the other.

"You'll find them a comfort when you're away from us.

God bless you, my son! You don't mind my calling you my son?
I couldn't be fonder of you, if I really was your father.

Let's part as cheerfully as we can," said poor Mr.Gallilee, with the tears rolling undisguisedly over his fat cheeks.
"We can write to each other--can't we?
Oh dear! dear! I wish I could take it as easy as Maria does.