Well, mother says I oughtn't to look so pleased, and I tell her there might be some sense in that if I'd stayed in the scrape, but if I haven't a right to look pleased at getting out, I'd like to know who has.

It was all too funny for words, now, wasn't it?
Of course, I shouldn't dream of talking to everybody like this--even if I am a big talker, I reckon I know when to hold my tongue and when not to--but I've always told you everything, Gabriella, and I don't mind the least bit in the world telling you about this.

It always relieves my mind to talk to somebody I can trust, and I know I can trust you.

Don't you remember the way I used to run in on rainy afternoons when you lived way over in Hill Street, and tell you all about Fred Dudley and Barbour Willis?
And then I used to come and talk about poor Algy by the hour.

Wasn't it too distressing about poor Algy?
I don't believe I'll ever get over it if I live to be a hundred, and even if I do run on like this, it doesn't mean that my heart isn't broken--simply broken--because it is.