So shall your thorns be known only to each other in
such fragrant clustering, and never known at all to Men unless they
insensately persist in giving you their hands.
While the Flowerpot was thus receiving fond good-byes, EDWIN DROOD, on
his way to see her, suffered an indecision of purpose which might have
bred disquiet in a more gigantic mind than his. With the package
containing the memorial stay-lace in one pocket, and his hands in two
others, he strode up the Bumsteadville turnpike in a light overcoat and
a brown study. But for good Mr. DIBBLE'S undeniably truthful picture of
a modern lover's actual situation, he might have allowed matters to go
as they would, and sunk into an early marriage without one prayer to
Heaven for mercy. Now, however, that picture troubled him even more than
the bump which he had got upon his head from the tilting table in the
lawyer's office, and he was disposed to send the stay-lace back to the
candid old man. "FLORA and I have about equal intellects," reasoned he
to himself. "Shall I leave the whole question to her, or my own
decision! One would be about as profound in wisdom as the other. Which?
I guess I'll toss-up for it."
He stepped aside from the road, under a leafless tree, and drew from a
pocket a badly speckled nickel coin. "Heads for her, tails for me," he
said, with some awe in his tone.
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