The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. “I get that a lot. Sheppard's good health, and success to him!" Baptist's toast was received with loud applause, and, as he sat down amid the cheers of the company, and a universal clatter of mugs and glasses, the widow's view was no longer obstructed. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see.
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