I have sat down, and Sir Roger is walking up and down, with a restlessness unlike his usual repose; on his face there is a vexed and thwarted look, that is unfamiliar to me.

The old parrot sits in the sun, outside his cage, scratching his head, and chuckling to himself.

Tou Tou's voice comes ringing from the garden.

It has a tone of mingled laughter and pain, which tells me that she is undergoing severe and searching discipline at the hands of Bobby.
"I suppose," say I, presently, speaking with some diffidence, "that _that_ is _all_.

Of course I do not mean to say that it is not very bad, but is there nothing _worse_ ?" "Is not it _bad enough_ ?" he asks, half laughing.