" Mr. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. The gallows has groaned for him for years. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it.
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