" "Ah! you're so very particular," sighed Mrs. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. The window was shortly after opened, and a rope ladder, with a lighted horn lantern attached to it, let down. F. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me.
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