His literary instincts began to stir. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. "But I like Bobby Burns best. He is in the care of those who will not leave the task assigned to them—the utter perversion of his principles—half-finished. ‘You could have fetched me home. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. She tore open the envelope and read it. Then he turned on his heel and walked off.
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