His literary instincts began to stir. Gerald’s judgement was borne out a moment later. “No!” she exclaimed. Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. Only that I was prevented by one of those soldiers that caught me in the big house. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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