I had looked down thus,
and at this hour, a thousand times; and always the scene had something
new to reveal to me, and much more to withhold--small subtleties such
as a man finds in his wife, however ordinary she may appear to other
people. And here, in the next room, was a man who, in half-a-dozen
hours, felt able to describe Troy, to deck her out, at least, in
language that should captivate a million or so of breakfasting
Britons.
"My country," said I, "if you have given up, in these six hours, a
tithe of your heart to this man--if, in fact, his screed be not
arrant bosh--then will I hie me to London for good and all, and write
political leaders all the days of my life."
In an hour's time the Journalist came sauntering out to me, and
announced that his letter was written.
"Have you sealed it up?"
"Well, no. I thought you might give me an additional hint or two; and
maybe I might look it over again and add a few lines before turning
in."
"Do you mind my seeing it?"
"Not the least in the world, if you care to. I didn't think, though,
that it could possibly interest you, who know already every mortal
thing that is to be known about the place.
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