He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. I would sooner see you in a ’bus again. You're an angel of goodness. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. I felt his heart. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes.
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