"O Wilks, but you're the daisy. So you're going to travel through the
world with the human sweetness of the soft voice of courtesy? You're a
fraud, Wilks, you're as soft-hearted as a fozy turnip."
"Corry, a little while ago you called me adamant. You are
inconsequential, sir."
"All right, Wilks, my darling. But isn't it a joy to have the colonel
taking the bad taste of the Grinstun man out of your mouth?"
"The colonel, no doubt, is infinitely preferable. He is a gentleman,
Corry, and that is saying a good deal."
"Hurroo for a specimen! look at that bank on your left, beyond that wet
patch, it's thyme, it is. _Thymus serpyllum_, and Gray says it's not
native, but adventitious from Europe. Maccoun says the same; I wonder
what my dear friend, Spotton, says? But here it is, and no trace of a
house or clearing near. It's thyme, my boy, and smells sweet as honey:--
Old father Time, as Ovid sings,
Is a great eater up of things,
And, without salt or mustard,
Will gulp you down a castle wall,
As easily as, at Guildhall,
An alderman eats custard.
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