And so I sat studying the envelope with a curiosity too piquant not to be enjoyed.

What in the world could so obsolete a friend find to say to one now?
Six months earlier there had been a certain opportunity for an advance, which at that time could not possibly have been misconstrued; when they landed me, a few later, there was another and perhaps a better one.

But this was the last summer of the late century, and already I was beginning to get about like a lamplighter on my two sticks.

Now, young men about town, on two walking-sticks, in the year of grace 1900, meant only one thing.

Quite a stimulating thing in the beginning, but even as I write, in this the next winter but one, a national irritation of which the name alone might prevent you from reading another word.
Catherine's handwriting, on the contrary, was still stimulating, if indeed I ever found it more so in the foolish past.