Miss Waterlow Never Walks and She Never Speaks

Once you have bent a piece of poetry, it is never quite the same again. Fortunately for all of us, two lines the end, torn ow so as to make the wedge the right thickness, have survived. They go like this, she never walks and she never speaks. And we've had her for weeks and weeks and weeks. Missus waterlow could speak if she wanted to. That she had decided to wait until she was a quarter past one. The reason was that she had such lovely things to remember. If only she could remember them. But nobody can speak without practice. She practised. Now, teddy, she called down on the floor at the foot of her