Spurlock halted in his tracks. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. The shouts of indignation—the frightful yells now raised baffle description. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. You cannot—shall not retreat.
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