His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Kneebone will excuse you. But did you ever hear of a djinn in a blue-serge coat? Stitched in!" Something like this was always rushing into his throat; and he had to sink his nails into his palms to stop his mouth.
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