"No offence, I hope, my dear Mrs. gutenberg. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. Though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge—which he had never for an instant quitted—in safety upon it. If he decided to watch television upstairs with his mother, she would probably retire before he did, but she was a light sleeper. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor.
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