Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Don't lay it all to the boy. Not at all. He ventured to the great gates, and by inserting his gimblets into the wood at intervals, so as to form points upon which he could rest his foot, he contrived, to ascend them; and when at the top, having fastened a portion of his dress to the spikes, he managed, not without considerable risk, to draw up his female companion. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do.
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