“Ciao, Fragolina. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. I think that I am a little disappointed in you. “Well?” she said. “And I’m not happy. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. “And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain.
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