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Updated: May 24, 2025
It was a lovely moonlight night. We sat on the deck of the gliding craft. The moonbeam and the lash of the driver fell softly on the flanks of the off horse, and only the surging of the tow-rope broke the silence. Folair's arm clasped my waist. I suffered it to remain.
I'll get that name by heart. He had muttered it over to himself some twenty times, when a loud knock at the door disturbed him from his occupation. Before he could open it, Mr Folair, the pantomimist, thrust in his head. Mr Folair's head was usually decorated with a very round hat, unusually high in the crown, and curled up quite tight in the brims.
Henry Breckinridge Folair, a consistent Copperhead, captain of the canal- boat, again and again pressed that suit I had so often rejected. It was a lovely moonlight night. We sat on the deck of the gliding craft. The moonbeam and the lash of the driver fell softly on the flanks of the off horse, and only the surging of the tow-rope broke the silence. Folair's arm clasped my waist.
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