Alice was unmanageable too, and we spent most of our time rambling and reading as we pleased.

Both of us dreamed awake half our time.

I had shooting and fishing to take me out of myself; but Alice, after my mother's death, lived with her own fancies and got less like other people every day.

There was a sort of garden house in the park,--a lonely, overgrown kind of place.

We put our books there, and used practically to live there for weeks together.