I can forgive him anything he does so he keeps to his ideals.

If he had had a better bringing up and knew the difference between good rain-water Madeira and bad pump water and worse whiskey he would keep as straight as a church deacon.

Too bad he doesn't." "Well," Harry answered at last, rising from his chair and brushing the ashes of his pipe from his clothes--"I don't know anything about Mr.
Horn's tides, but he's right about Mr.Poe--that is, I hope he is.

We've both, got a 'Lost Lenore,'" and his voice quivered.

All Harry's roads ended at Kate's door.
And so with these and other talks, heart-burnings, outings, sports, and long tramps in the country, the dogs scampering ahead, the summer days slipped by..