You must forgive the poet’s license I take. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. Fear nothing. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. This obstacle being removed, in his eagerness to proceed, he had forgotten to take his little charge with him.
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