I went off to round up his wife. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. "Has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. You'll be answerable for his escape. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. I asked her to marry me, and she consented.
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