With something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted. “Thanks to you. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “DEAREST A—— “I lied to you. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.
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