“Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, Sir John,” he said, holding out a Daily Telegraph. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. He caught the smirk. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. They shall hear of me no more.
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