But I was portentous, I can assure you. ” “I know. “I did not,” Anna answered. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. “You have them both,” Anna answered. I don’t know what has come over me. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. Girls erupted in waves of whispering as soon as she passed them by. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd.
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