And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. He remembered also, all at once, the very first words he had heard her speak: “I was not born to this. She was watching him intently. "May I be cursed," muttered Sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the woollendraper pleasantly observed) 'a couple of boxes in charge,' "if ever I try to be honest again!" "Take a little toasted cheese with the swig, Mr. I waited for them to get right out of the grounds. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge.
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