If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. So, let's think no more about it. While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. '—'No fear o' that,' thought I. Wood to a seat within it, immediately pushed from land.
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