No, never mind about thanking me. "Dying, Sir Rowland. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. "But be prudent, my angel. It did not seem quite fair. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind.
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