A fever of shame ran through her being. The thought made her exquisitely happy. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. "Hoity-toity! You owe me sixteen thousand dollars. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. 196 Succeeded where she had not. “He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. It was obvious that he had waited for her. .
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