. "I've seen him some years ago, I believe," answered Wood; "and, though he must be much changed by this time, I dare say I should know him again. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. “What about blood banks? Have you ever tried them?” “I don’t just take blood, John.
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