Then I hated the wire.

Alas! hear the end.
"My moments are numbered; and if I would expose him with my dying sigh, I must not sentimentalize over my own decay.

They were in a punt, her hand trailing in the water, when I became his.

When they parted that night at Cookham Lock, he held her head in his hands, and they gazed in each other's eyes.

Then he turned away quickly; when he reached the punt again he was whistling.