She says to be home by one AM. Maggot. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. I cannot have my wife distressed or worried.
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