Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. On the contrary. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. “Showtime!” Martin cried. Maggot.
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