I'll try the effect of a jolly stave. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. "I feel like work," he lied. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle.
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