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“There are no males at men to stare; A man scores always, everywhere. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. I don’t want to stop your singing. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She had often wondered if Hoddy would ever go back to it. She knew now that he never would. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. S. On the contrary. Folks don’t like ’em.
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