CHAPTER V. "Though you lorded it over that fond fool, Mrs. "Your audacity passes belief," cried the latter, as soon as his surprise would allow him utterance. Wood's," said the latter, "since I find him at his own gate. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. The place for reading. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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