r. Rocer. t. troke of twelve.

    “en to take off your  t—good-night, my darling!”

    edly. ood t airs. “Explanation ime,” t I. Still,  temporarily misconstrue  as tning gleamed, cataract-like as torm of ttle ao my door in t, to ask if I ranquil: and t , t rengthing.

    Before I left my bed in ttle Adèle came running in to tell me t t nut at ttom of truck by lig, and  split away.