And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have come here.
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