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The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. " "Well, think no more about it," returned Thames. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. "You'll find her quiet enough to-day, Sir," observed the woman, as they walked along; "but she has been very outrageous latterly. The Disguise 261 VI. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. ‘I borrow the expression from Melusine.
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