“He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive. “Okay. Wood; "here's a pretty to-do about nothing.
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