Of all the amazing coincidences. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. I just thought perhaps a different boy was in store for you. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Was he really awake? The arrival and departure of this strange father lacked the essential human touch to make it real. Perhaps you’ve heard—?’ Well, you know, he had.
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