"It was a private letter, no doubt." "It was poetry.

There's no need for you to hurry, my friend.

It was more than mere poetry, it was in Latin.

I read the first line on the page, and it ran, '_Te, dum spernit, arat novus accola; max ubi cultam_--'" Gaydon tore his arm away from Misset.

"I'll hear no more of it," he cried.