And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. He reached over and took her hand. " The stranger smiled incredulously. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. At the same time, I must say that I am most anxious to improve my acquaintance with her.
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