there comes a kind of chaos.

    ts blanket gives a cry; anot I  noticed—it lies in a tin box, beneatable—begins to cry also. Ricakes off  and , sets doretc hin.

    It aint Sue, he says.

    Miss Lilly, says tly. Aint you just tired, dear? You e a journey

    It aint Sue, says ttle louder.

    C catcays °n beo take care of a fe points.—Mr Ibbs, how are you, sir?

    S, son, taken off ing to us has

    gone. ttle brazier is cooling and ticking and grotle and a spoon, but is still stealing looks at me.

    t get it. You will, answers Rics  h, and winks.

    till before me, still describing my face elling off my features as if tring. Broers. Nice and dainty at teete as c, I dare say? Oh!

    I ood, as if in a trance, and let ter against my face, I start away from her.

    o me?  me, any of you? And you— I go to Riccoat.  is t me to?  do they know of Sue, here?

    he woman looks rueful.

    Got a voice, dont she girl.

    Like t clean.

    Rics my gaze, t can I say? he shrugs. I am a villain.

    Damn your attitudes noell me  yours?

    Is it .

    Jo, or Ill t mind !

    I can feel  do not look at ell me, I say.

    Not mine,  last.

    Not ours? hen?

    ired. It is to the Borough.

    tand for a moment in silence, thinking back across his

    drops. Sues hieves.

    to t know us!

    I t! I  spit at cc. It seems darker, too, and close. I still coat. ries to pull a as  me o be rid of me. o keep my money for o give trifling s of my s drops again, as I t—Sue t all.

    You s do it! I say, my voice rising. You t knoo do? All of you?  trick?

    You dont knories to dra let , tainly kill me. For a second ruggle. titcc ead.

    take me back, I say. I say it, t let t my voice  make it firm. take me back, at once, to treets and hackneys.

    do it.

    take me noudied it,  a—a policeman!

    the dog barks.

    Noroking ac be careful alk, dear, in a his.

    It is you o anot is it you t is you  is all of you! And you, Ric be most careful of all, so talk.

    But Riching. Do you hear me? I cry.

    ts o o clear it of o everyone. Aint it?

    Damn you! I say. I look  me for a moment, t my bag. Ric first,   across t playfully. takes it up, and  in o pick at the blade flashes.

    Ric leave, Maud,  go, hing.

    o to stand before it. t lead, pero a street, pero ot one. I am sorry, he says.

    t itself is like a blade, and astonis I  Briar?  I felt it rising from me, and been glad? Noo kill me; and I am more afraid t possible to be, of anyt all.

    You fool, I say to myself. But to t. You s! I run one , not for t Ric for t, and s, and put my o its neck. You s! I say again. Damn you, do you t t!—I t.—See, ifle it!

    terested. t t no six, if you . Make it—ure to tin box beneatable—make it five. It is all to me. I fancy I am about to give the business up, anyway.

    ture in my arms slumbers on, but gives a kick. I feel tation of its  beneathere is a

    fluttering at top of its scs ^er o  for a cigarette. , Put t you?

    mildly; and I become a. I set table, among tes and c once, takes  over its head.

    do it. John Vroom shall have him—lips, nose and ears!

    tickled. ts enougs to be  of to t y, see to little Sidney before ed girl. I expected not you dont imagine o  you? So me again. S stand  toucs rokes my sleeve. You dont imagine you aint more welcome han anyone?

    I still stle. I cant imagine, I say, pulling myself a in keeping me o leave.

    Silts , Mr Ibbs? srokes me again. Sit do t from a very grand place, it miging for you. ont you take off your cloak, and your bonnet? You ser, c you slip off your gloves?—ell, you kno.

    I cly, is raticular about to  feed way— by her uncle.

    the woman looks sage.

    Your uncle, s  a lot of filtouch you, dear,

    to  no, ter your oranger, I al a shame?

    I , to disguise trembling of my legs; but o t, it is , it is terribly , my c I must not move, I must till picks at till at my side. t of t s it.

    I turn my  not my gaze. Ric ansens tring of my bonnet and dra from my s my akes up a lock of it and rubs it between her fingers.

    Quite fair, s of e fair, like gold almost.

    Do you mean to sell it? I say take it! I snatc t up and rip it from its pins. You see, I say,  me go.

    Sty  I said? e dont mean to  y: you sime. And Mr ing for you— you, Mr Ibbs? And ing for you,  of all. Dear me,  has been.

    S o me. Aint s to be— ongue, lets  ward?

    ts cly at me: Miss Lilly is tunes h ours. Miss Lilly

    dont kno—as , t empt you? Sogetton cc a stall on ty s, bring it back, fry it up, quick as  ces, look, fit for royalty. e got silver forks— Mr Ibbs, pass me one of ttle roug t it? Dont mind it, darling. ts  off. Feel t of it, t t  t be fishe

    chop?

    Sands, bending to me, o my face. I push

    it aside.

    Do you suppose, I say, I mean to sit and eat a supper o call you servants! tunes her die!

    t a dander, says t she?

    But t admiring. Daintys got a dander, s one myself. Any ordinary girl can  a lady  do t, Gentleman? So Riciredly to tug upon the slavering dog.

    eur,  looking up.

    eur, ss.

    Mersee, says te, after all, to ook it for common bad manners, and punched her.

    urns to tc you learned yet,  prise it, boy, and mass s little  about to bust it.

    tab  time I he word used as

    a curse. akes t of ts it to t and stop , sly, in one long gash.

    ell, ts like you, says tly.

    aken out a pipe, and lig. ts o t in tc and, till burning from t of tting of to tremble.

    Please, I say. Please give me back my t trouble about t is mine, and let me go.

    I suppose my voice eous note to it; for nourn tudy me, and trokes my hair.

    Not frigill? s frig being playful.—Jo your knife a, dear? s a creased old t looks like it aint been used in fifty years. e s you a proper one. S hough!

    t gives up t to me I take it and . tears, rising in my t.

    Boo-, ter, he says, when you was a chair.

    I am sure . t to look at Ric it enougo ricked me? and so coolly  me?

    roking o t you a quieter place, for o sit in?

    A quieter place? so warm  down o come up, dear, now? Make your ? ash your hands?

    I so be so treet, and a , only t.

    ell,  treet from t me take t old bag.— ant to keep it? All rig your grip a strong one! Gentleman, you come along, too, ake your old room, at top?

    I will, .

    t ands close. I soo, and bet menace a so a pen—tcoaircase.  is darker and cooler, and I feel t perreet-door, and sloeps; but I too, of  t call from it, or drop from it—or fling myself from it—sry to  me. taircase is narro; eps, are cer, ing ing shadows.

    Lift your skirts, dear, above the woman, going up before me. Richard comes, very close, behind.

    At top t: t, and s to a small square room. A bed, a ly cross. It is narroogetreet, a ment-coloured sters -s in yellow chalks.

    I stand and study it all, my bag still clutco me, but my arms groairs; t to tand and pours a little er from to take, in coming so quickly to tands betout, and

    puso surprise her.

    Per tand, ilted, but sche same close, eager, half-awed, half-admiring way as before.

    ed soap, sotle and to me,  bared and made   you care, she says, for lavender?

    I epped acart! I dont care, I say, taking anotep, to be tricked. Seps, too.  trickery, darling?

    Do you t to come o stay?

    I tartled. I t quite yourself. Not quite myself? s myself to you? o say  or mig be?

    At t, , returns to tand, toucoairs, a cairs, Ricters. If I am to run, I must do it notom, t t? I am not sure. Never mind, I t I do not. ts cate; and in t of t ation Riceps airs. o tte beo er.

    . take your cloak off, Maud, o strangle me.

    t keep my cloak quite fastened, and move backhe window. I will

    as . I reet. Ricches me and sighs. he makes his eyes wide. You need

    t . Do you to  you?

    And do you trust you not to? You told me vourself, at Briar, o, for moneys sake. I  mean to c me of all my fortune. tell me you s get it, tcer some slig contracts. Clever Sue. Good girl.

    S up, Maud.

    . the deed upon your conscience. I suppose you have one?

    Not one, ly, t roubled by to  like it.

    till gazing at t speaking. You do everyt her word?

    Everyt meaningfully; and e, not understanding, en to me, Maud. t. From start to finis I am, I am not so great a s I would swindle .

    —but t  to me before. You are lying, I say.

    No. truth.

    believe it. S sent you to Briar, to my uncle? And before t, to Paris? to Mr rey?

    S sent me to you. No matter all ting patook to reac aken t kno t  eps.

    I glance betune, ter a moment. So anyone mig of the house?

    S anyone.

    ts o mine again at last, and nods. I kneher, she says.

    My moto my t—a curious trait lies s ribbon fraying, I   in years. My moto London to escape  once, I t Briar—untended, untrimmed, its one creeping h grey.

    till c my hand drop.

    I dont believe you, I say. My mot was her name?__

    tell me t.

    So look sly. I kno, s  say it just yet. Ill tell you tter t started it, t arts your name. Ill tell you tter. t oo! t letter, t. t was aR . . .

    S, I kno? ho is she?

    A nurse, I say. You were a nurse—

    But s smiles. Now, w?

    You dont kno kno I was born in a madhouse!

    as you? she answers quickly. hy do you say so?

    You t remember my own home?

    I stle.  mean here.

    I , I say.

    You old it, I expect.

    Every one of my uncles servants kno!

    told it, too, per make it true? Maybe, j Maybe not.

    As sand to ts upon it, sloness

    s, Gentleman?—I  last t t?  me again. e keeps t room, s, friendly, dangerous tone, for Gentleman to kip in  of room it is, I can tell you. Seen all manner of business up ts of tricks. People been knoo come —sends surprise— t be found—do you see?—whey come here. Chaps, girls, kids, ladies

    After t   you sit, dear girl? Dont care to? e, t upon it—a quilt of coloured squares, rougted, and rougogeto pluck at one of its seams, as if in distraction. Now, w was I speaking of? she says, her eyes on mine.

    Of ladies, says Richard.

    Ss s rigrue ladies, you find ticks in ticular, t came—oeen years? Seventeen? Eigcime to you, s, I dare say. Seems a lifetime, dont it? Only , dear girl, till you are my age. togetogetears . . . Ss. But I ill, and cold, and cautious, and say nothen she goes on.

    ell, ticular lady, s muc  s my name from a  did girls and ts. You knoopped? S. t  of my line. My idea   going to kill you on its , then have

    it, and sell it; or ter, give it to me and let me sell it for you!—I mean, to people t  infants, for servants or apprentices, or for regular sons and daug t?—and people like me, providing ts? No? Again, I make no ans eitill so me. Poor tried to  soo far on, s sick. quot;; I said, before I took ; follo about kill  o t. As for tleman t arted roubles all off, by saying lemen, of course, will do.

    ook  airs. Pernt to . Mr Ibbs did say I oug to. For I  and fretful—more fretful, t borne a little infant of my o  talk of t,  talk of t.

    S , as if in searcory. to find tcures up t is a dirty yellohe smoke of lamps.

    Up t lemans room. And all day long I  beside  I would urning in her bed, and crying. Nearly broke your

    . S die. Mr Ibbs supposed it. I t, for s to go anot s rengto go  time. But maybe t, too—times. For s and it starts coming. takes a day and a nigo come, all rigs a s te made rags of. t;s t, Mrs Sucksby?quot; s;ts your baby, my dear!quot; I tell ;My baby?quot; says s;Is my baby a boy, or a girl?quot; quot;Its a girl,quot; I say. And ;to girls. I wis;

    Ss s t t: aken up t of t across tle lohose backwards, rueful sighs.

    ty, crying again . . . S  I, Miss Lilly? Not finding me tiresome, dear? Aint muco erest, perales ...quot;

    Go on, I say. My mouticks. Go on, about the woman.

    t tle girl? Suc little scrap of a girl, s blue, of course; and broer . . .

    So my o my voice I make flat. Go on, I say again. I knoo tell me. tell me noer dead.  then?

    isimes. And sometimes t. Not  co her, and when I said she had much

    better give o me, te ;, you dont mean to raise ; I said. quot;You, a lady,  a ; S to go abroad, ;Ill see my daugo a poor man before s; s;Im ty life.quot; t  no amount of sensible talking from me could s s , to t to start for France so soon as rengtell you t s I o  simple and good.

    S its t are meant to suffer in t it, t very ime, of France, it il one nigting o cs t first put o me: I see rouble. t do you tracked er all. quot;t; says t;Lord  to tell t t; Ss black. quot;t; s;and a bully to  your lady out nory to !quot;

    ell! t all, and started s;O; s;O only  to France!quot;—but trip doairs ;take my baby!quot; s;take

    as omb! take urn  against me—o even named  even named ; ts all s;I  even named ;—quot;Name ; I said, just to make . quot;Name ill got t; quot;I ; she said.

    quot;But, ;ell,quot; I said, quot;to be a lady after all, t no s your o; t;My names a eful one, Id sooner curse  anyone call ;

    Sops, seeing my face. It ed—t tory must reac, and ood, feeling my breater, my stomacale proceeds. I dras not true, I say. My mot a her was a soldier. I have his ring. Look here, look here!

    I o my bag, and I stoop to it, and pull at torn leattle square of linen t  t up. My udies it and shrugs.

    Rings may be got, s about anywhere.

    From him, I say.

    From anyen like t, amped V.R.—ould t make the Queens?

    I cannot ans  a her— My uncle— I look up. My uncle. hy should my uncle lie?

    ell trut last. I dare ss t of unluckiness—  a man doesnt care to talk about too freely . . .

    I gaze again at t upon it I liked, as a girl, to suppose made by a bayonet. No, as if pierced and made hollow.

    My motrapped to a table.—No. I put my o my eyes. t part, per not t. My mot in to be mindful of  I s.

    Sainly, once t  in a cell, says Ricime to time, for tisfaction of gentlemen.—ell, no more of t, just yet.  Mrs Sucksbys eye. And you ainly kept in fear of follo do to you?—save make you anxious, obedient, careless of your os—in otly fit you to your uncles fancy? Didnt I tell you once, w a scoundrel he was?

    You are aken.

    No mistake, answers Mrs Sucksby.

    You may be lying, even noh of you!

    e may be. Saps  you see, dear girl, .

    My uncle, I say again. My uncles servants. Mr ay, Mrs Stiles . . .

    But I say it, and I feel—t of a pressure—Mr ays s my ribs, iless  my cheek:

    une, surned out trash—/

    I kno, I kno. I still  to threw cups and saucers.

    Damn  t of my uncles bed, turn upon  tell me, at Briar? Dont you t , and bring me o to trick and surprise me?

    Surprise you?  Maud, o do t.

    I dont understand ry to. I am till of my uncle, my mots o  the

    mouts ticipation, I tion. I am t t t tomime, o let fly the fairies.

    Mrs Sucksby ates, to a ss out a bottle. S tumblers  t.

    I  suppose t of to; but a bit of  brandy, meant for use noell me, w?

    No  all, says Rico me and, so confused am I—so dazed and enraged—I take it at once, and sip it as if it ches me swallow.

    Got a good mouts, she says approvingly.

    Got a moutheyre marked up, Medicine. hey, Maud?

    I  ans. I sit, at last, upon ten turning into nigs s are papered tern of floands out against t be, and buzzes in  the glass.

    I sit  s run, but run uselessly. I do not ask—as I ory and I  or  told—I do not ask o do o profit from ting and stunning of me. I only rage, still, against my uncle. I only t mad, not mad . . .

    I suppose my expression is a strange one. Ric me. Dont t t woman, Marianne.

    I s, my fatleman? t an orpill live? Did he never—?

    Maud, Maud, o  t you. tc you migs, no more t?

    I dont knotle time, to tell me—

    But Mrs Sucksby o me, and ligouches my arm.

    ait up, dear girl, sly. Ss a finger to  up, and listen. You aint ory. tter parts to come. For ts been made rags of. time. t;ll  your o;, and t. You remember, my dear? quot;As for being ter of a lady,quot; says t, quot;you tell me t does being a lady do for you, except let you be ruined? I  ; s;like a girl of t ; quot;You name ; I say—still meaning, as it o ;I ; s;I  t o me once—kinder t ;

    Maud, I say, c  it. range. range. Sates, for anothen says:

    Susan.

    Riccill. My ts, t o turn like grinding op. Susan. Susan. I  let t speak. I  move, for

    fear I sumble or sakes anots again, beside me, upon the bed.

    Susan, ss o  baby for a servant, dont it? So I t, any ill sill saying as ake te ;O; s;I   can I do? o you noook any ot;

    s, briefly—very fast—in ts o it, th.

    ts s s t are lying about to art up crying at once. t to  o tairs, just outside t door—silts s ops. S me, and I see ;e cant!quot; I say. quot; ; s;You er s up a lady.  let some ottle mot, in , too! But I stle a une on . S, if youll only take , and keep  ance till s! Dont you ; s;some moto my fat you? Dont you? For Gods sake, say you do! ty pounds in t of my goell a living soul youve done it.quot;

    Per in treet—I do not kno  if to be asked to do. ouldnt you say, dear girl? . I t  I said at last ;Keep your money. Keep your fifty pounds. I dont  it.  I , is tleman, and gents are tricky. Ill keep your baby, but I  for you to e me out a paper, saying all you mean to do, and signing it, and sealing it; and t makes it binding.quot; quot;Ill do it!quot; sraig;Ill do it!quot; And  all do as I old you, t Susan Lilly is   tunes are to be cut, and so on—and s and seals it s on t t it aint to be opened till ter turns eigy-one, sed to make it: but my mind  must be eignt to risk taking  was w. S. S.

    And t t s—an old one, and a younger—getting out, and o and, tearing t of my o tcicular baby t is to turn out fair, like airs. I said, quot;ake o s a name for a lady after all. Remember your ; quot;Remember yours!quot; take it, and bring it do in ty cot. . .

    Srifling little t o do! se. Done, ill  t;; t;e kno ; No stopping ts t

    tairs by her

    pa—he mark of her

    brotick on  oo late to c, took   tell you. I dare say s often of Sue; but no more t.

    Surns  keep it from spilling. roking t red t in its slipper goes tap upon t taken ime sil now.

    My o is made by my palms. t lengthens. Mrs Sucksby leans closer.

    Dear girl, s you say a o us? Soucill I  speak or move. s, ratures to Rics before me.

    You understand, Maud, rying to see about my fingers,  your mot your uncle. Your life  t you  to live, but Sues; and Sue lived yours ...quot;

    t dying men see, played before tness, ton of ring of beads, my uncles naked eyes, t and useless, like ter. I suts. But,  back. I am not errible laug be gly.

    O t! tare?  are you gazing at? Do you suppose a girl is sitting  girl is lost! Sripped we! Se as a page of paper! Sed—

    I try to take a breat as  t does not come. I gasp, and sands and ches.

    No madness, Maud, aste. Remember. You  no close to my face. Dear girl— But I ser still—a er—and I jerk, as a fis jerk on to my bag and grope inside it, bring out my bottle of medicine: s times, into to my lips. I taste it, t my o my mout kno at lengt t covers t my s. I lie—still tcime to time, in ch me.

    Presently, tle nearer. Noly, are you better, darling? I do not ans o go, and let her sleep?

    Sleep be damned, ill believe s aps my face. Open your eyes, he says.

    I say, I aken them from me.

    c s better. Notle more

    for you to kno a little more, and ten to me. Listen! Dont ask me,  to, I s t. Do you feel trikes me. Very good.

    t so  mig ried to c.

    Gentleman! s. No call at all. emper, cant you? I believe youve bruised her. Oh, dear girl.

    Soo be grateful, raigting back  I  done ime in t t to kno again, and count it not Briar, a sort of gentleman. I make a ry, and?

    I lie, nursing my cakes tte from bes it to ch.

    Go on, Mrs Sucksby, . tell t. As for you, Maud: listen  last w your life was lived for.

    My life  lived, I say in a  ion.

    ell—crikes it—fictions must end. o.

    It  ious. My  not so t I cannot, noo be fearful of ell me next, o keep me, o keep me for ...

    Mrs Sucksby sees me groful, and nods. Noart to get it, sarting to see. I got ts better, I got t it? Souctle closer. Like to see it? s sort of voice. Like to see the ladys word?

    Ss. I do not ans s Ricurns o tons of affeta rustles. -o me, into —and t a folded paper. Kept t to me, all t than gold! Look, here.

    tter, and bears a tilting instruction: to Be Opened on teenter, Susan Lilly.—I see t name, and s s jealously and, like my uncle—not my uncle, noique book,  let me take it; ss me touc,  of . te unbroken. tamp is my mot mine, not mine—

    M.L.

    You see it, dear girl? Mrs Sucksby says. trembles. S back to ure and look—lifts it to s o it, turns ores it to its place inside tons  Ricc says nothing.

    I speak, instead. Se it, I say. My voice is te it. took  then?

    Mrs Sucksby turns. ly smoot sractedly. tone c me,  linger on anot! ? t mont us. For noo. No penny to go to ter—meaning you, dear girl, so far as till ter marries. tlemen for you—aint it? S me a note to tell me, by a nurse. t o t soon finis o  turn out no sook ion from the

    t of my y. Poor girl! S sorry.—t was her slip.

    Rico look crafty. As for me, s t to get tune  be, t I een years for figuring it out in. I t many times of you.

    I turn my face. I never asked for your ts, I say. I dont  them now.

    Ungrateful, Maud! says Ricting so  girls seek only to be t fancy inguished.

    I look from o Mrs Sucksby, saying not often of you, s on. I supposed you   you mig your grand-dad and uncle sake you a. t your grand-dad died. tly, in try; and  you in a quiet oo. tter—Means  o me,  Sue to pin it to? t I   reet like ours; to keep . t over— kno use  t, but never quite knoo come clear, leman— t you migly married, turns into my kno  must secretly marry you . . . Its te, to look at Sue and knoh her. She shrugs. ell, and

    no. Sues you, dear girl. And  you here for is—

    Listen, Maud! says Ricurned my o me, lifts o stroke my hair.

    o start being Sue. Only t, dear girl! Only t.

    I open my eyes, and suppose look stupid.

    Do you see? says Ricatement, une—Mauds so me. I so say I  of it; but ter all, and o her. he makes a bow.

    ts fair, aint it? says Mrs Sucksby, still stroking my hair.

    But to say, Sues real sands also to get. tatement names en less tunes . . . t all means not ts Maud Lilly—true Maud Lilly— t ed? to vanise ago, t you

    you, to be passed off as Sue, and so make Mrs Sucksby rich?

    Make us bot so less, dear, as to rob you quite of everyt you, and o ss une. I got plans for us bot, t grand!—Saps her nose.

    I pus am too giddy, still, to stand. You are mad, I say to th. You are mad! I— Pass me off as Sue?

    ? says Richink we shall.

    Convince him, how?

    have been

    like parents to you, and so migo knooo—to any kind of misc met you at Briar, er my lemens ends to be struck . But of course you ry are a pair of doctors—t you, only yesterday, give tsey, and stand in a good lige ty minutes, ansions to the name of Susan?

    s me consider t. t,  o lose? Dear Maud, you o your name—w so much as a name!

    I  my fingers to my mout do it? Suppose, well him—

    tell ? tell ted to s girl?—looked on, ?

    I sit and c last I say, in a urn to Mrs Sucksby. And you, I say. Are you so o think, of Sue— Are you so vile?

    Ss. ickedness,  terms! terms of fiction. Do you t  in ttas—for comedys sake? Look about you, Maud. Step to to treet. t fiction. It is  is c .—C! s retcired I am!  a days o a mad s? er? t may come later, I suppose. No matter if it does. Sues birthday

    falls at tart of August. e o persuade you into our plot. I t.

    I am gazing at  cannot speak. I am till, of Sue. ilts  say . her, he adds, would have been sorry, also.

    My motart to say.—I tc, I  t of tcs o retc, and coug deliberate kind of way.

    Noleman, says Mrs Sucksby anxiously as , dont tease her.

    tease ill pulls at  c t, from talking.

    You oo mucs  it?—Miss Lilly, dont mind y of time for talking of t.

    Of my motrue mot you made out to be Sues. t c choked, on a pin.

    On a pin! says Ric? Mrs Sucksby bites o them.

    in me, noo be astonis hief I suppose will do . . .

    Ric, grave. Gentleman, s got noto tell Miss Lilly, noo say to a girl in private.

    o hem.

    Ss, but  leave. Ss beside me; again, I flinch away.

    Dear girl, s of it is, t a pleasant o tell it; and I ougo kno once already, to Sue. Your mots  Richard.

    tell her, he says. Or I will.

    So took before ts, not just for t for killing a man; and—o!

    hanged?

    A murderess, Maud, says Riche window of my room—

    Gentleman, I mean it!

    . I say again, hanged!

    ever it means,  better. tudies my face. Dear girl, dont t, s does it matter no you? rouble  you here.

    Ss a lamp: a score of gaudy surfaces—tead, cs upon tel-sart out of to tand, and again s soap! Got from a s. Come in a year ago—I sa come and t, quot;No!quot; Kept it ime. And o a nap like a peac! Dont care for lavender,  you one of rose. Are you looking, dear? So t of dra draicoats, and stockings, and stays! Bless me, al drops— one pair of blue, one red. t comes of my not knoo matcy she blue pair . . .

    Scals turn. to blur. I o weep.

    As if weeping could save me.

    Mrs Sucksby sees me, and tuts. O t a sleman, you see ?

    Crying, I say bitterly, unsteadily, to find myself o t the closeness and foulness of you!

    Sepped back. Dear girl, s Ricting take you?

    I despise you, I say, for bringing me back!

    Sares, t smiles. Sures about t t, I mean for you to keep at Lant Street! Dear girl, dear girl, you aken from  make a lady of you. And a lady t je ting your s I said? I  you by me, dear, ake companions? Only  till I  my une; t take t  carriages and footmen well  pearls, w dresses!

    Ss o kiss me, to eat me. I rise and s tay ched scheme is done?

    else? s to  me? It une took you; it is me t  you back. I been  over for seventeen years. I been plotting and te since I first laid you in t Sue—

    Sill harder. Sue, I say. Oh, Sue . . .

    No I do everyt as ed?—kept  idy, made a commonplace

    girl of   give he life you had from

    her?

    You have killed her! I say.

    Killed ors about  dont come cell you.

    It certainly doesnt, says Ric, dont forget. I sy asylum,  doo

    me.

    You see, dear girl? Killed   for me!  nursed ook sick?  t do you t o me, er, s, in comparison s been made of you.

    I stare at her. My God! I say. how could you? how could you?

    Again, s?

    But, to c o leave here—!

    Ss my sleeve. You let take  er, then?

    From ter. Ricands c till buzzes, still beats against tops. As if it is a signal, I turn, and sink out of Mrs Sucksbys grasp. I sink to my knees at t. I ermined. I ten doy, desire, love, for t freedom being taken from me utterly, is it to be  if I fancy myself defeated?

    I give myself up to darkness; and  my o t.