For the moment he was sober, as men count sobriety.
"For he I serve hath paced Heaven's golden floor, And chanted with the Seraphims' glad choir; Lo! All his wings are plumed with fervent fire; He hath twain that bear him upward evermore, With twain he veils his holy eyes before The mystery of his own divine desire.
"Does it remind you of anything ?" he asked.

It struck her as odd that he seemed to realize her presence with difficulty.
"No, I can't say that I ever heard anything like it in my life." "Well, the idea's bagged from Dante--I mean Dante-gabrier-rossetti.
But he doesn't want it as badly as I do.

In fac', I don' think he wants it at all where he is now.

If he does, he can take any of mine in exchange.

You bear me out, Poppy--I invite the gentleman to step down and make 's own s'lection: Nobody can say I plagiarize anyborry--anyborry but myself." "All right, don't you worry, old chappy," said Poppy soothingly.