The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. I never want you to be ashamed of me. “I want an engagement. In one grave, mind. She saw his purpose and his doubt hesitated also, and then went to him, took his coat lapels, and kissed him on the cheek. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere.
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