And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. "You'll not be offended, I hope," returned Wood, drily, "if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just described. It drives him to my island, where I can study him to my heart's content. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. "Not I," replied Blueskin. Here one might live the life of golden days.
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