"Poor little book.

I ought to have burned it years ago; and I ought to have learned by this time to keep my mouth shut.

They've always said I look like an Indian, but an Indian never tells anything.

I've told just one story too many.

_Mea maxima culpa!_" He sat down in the big chair beside his desk, placed the book within reach, and kept touching it as he talked.
"I saw Mr.Thatcher," said Sylvia.