. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand. “What are you doing?” “Nothing. Some of their specimens—wonderfully selected, wonderfully got up. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile.
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