" "I am almost afraid to utter it," said Kneebone; "but Thames Darrell is murdered. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. ” “It is very nice of you to think of it,” Anna said briskly.
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