Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. "He has quite the air of one. “Do you see what I was talking about, Strings?” No one is going to want to hear a note from you until you have tone like. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. It's as well to be on the safe side. Don’t stand gawping, man. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know.
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