You must come back. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. She left them and went back to Sebastian, never uttering a word about her visit. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend.
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