“A fear of what?” asked the gentleman, who seemed to pity her. “I scarcely know of what,” replied the girl. “I wish I did. Horrible thoughts of death, and shrouds with blood upon them, and a fear that has made me burn as if I was on fire, have been upon me all day. I was reading a book to-night, to wile the time away, and the same things came into the print.”

Mama had chosen the name Lark. Lark Browning Erhardt. Papa had wanted to call me Beverly Mary; Mary after the Blessed Virgin. Mama said she wouldn't hang a name like Beverly Mary on a pet skunk. Where she got the idea for Lark, I don't know, though one time when I asked, she said that larks flew high and had a happy song.

'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle herring: How now Sot.

Jake has more for-real combat skills and less bluster than anyone else around.