We walked down George Street, past the work-box in the window.

I managed to pass without wincing, though desperately afraid that the shopman might pop out--it seemed but natural he should be lying in wait--and hold me to my bargain.
Our session upon the Hoe, though uninterrupted, did not recapture the dear abandonment of our first blissful birthday.

Miss Plinlimmon could neither forget the mishap to her purse, nor speak quite freely about it.

A week later she celebrated her redemption in the following stanza: "A friend in need is a friend indeed, We have oft-times heard: And King Richard the Third Was reduced to crying, 'My kingdom for a horse!' O, may we never want a friend! 'Or a bottle to give him,' I omit, as coarse." She enclosed one-and-ninepence in the missive: and so obtained her work-box after all--it being, by a miracle, still unsold..