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 life pretending that you did, anyhow; and if you are a perfect lady, you must never tell me the contrary.

How shall I thank you for being so good to me in your great, cool house on the hill? And those strawberries in the full, fair garden! Verily, they were good to me, and cruelly did I eat of them. Will you give my love to the Greuze in the library, to the chiseled glass on the sideboard, and to the stranger that is without your gate? Is there one at present? And how I envy him! I was the last. Did he come as I came, bearing letters to your father from the Great Mogul of Pennsylvania? Or did he come shining from fairyland, with the accoutrements of a prince? You must tell me when such an one comes, that I may felicite you.

We are going through fog now, and every minute we bellow hoarsely, as the ocean animals of one of those ages that end in "oic" must have bellowed. It is rank cold, and there are no strawberries.