They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. He’s out in Phoenix last I heard. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. I could not love you else. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. "Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone.
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