grand enoug not so grand nor so grim perleman ed it. But from me and reacrunk, he said,
ait up, s, o a man t, Mr Mack. You may s te be last.
t ared, saying not it, betrees, t curved as to a kind of o clear a little, on try lanes—gre gre it, damp, upon my face, upon my lashes and lips; and closed my eyes.
tared again. t from betrees into a gravel clearing, and and straigark out of ts ered, and its o ts c I must now call my home.
e did not cross before t, but kept o took up a lane t sered e face and great black riking across t, illiam Inker pulled tood gazing at us, the cold.
tiles, rap come, said illiam. e crossed to join a little I saer, and t.
to a passage, and to a great, brigc five times tc Lant Street, and s set in roable sat a boy, a me. tudied my bonnet and t of my cloak. ts trouble myself to study them.
Mrs Stiles said, ell, youre about as late as you could be. Any longer and you so stay at the village. e keep early hours here.
S fifty, e cap quite looking in your eye as so you. S . Plain, old-fashem.
I made sey. I did not say—urned back at Paddington;
t I for anyone to ime t I rying to get forty miles from London, per to prove t London meant to be left—I did not say t. I said was:
Im sure, Im very grateful t trap at all. t table tittered to turned out—got up and set about making me a supper-tray. illiam Inker said,
Miss Smitty fine place in London, Mrs Stiles. And simes in France. iles.
Only one or times, I said. Now everyone would suppose I ing.
S in tiles gave a nod. t table tittered again, and one of t made t tray iles said,
Margaret, you can carry to my pantry. Miss Smitake you to w splash your hands and face.
I took to mean t so took me do passage, to anot in it h paper on a spike.
took me to tle room. It e , and a picture of a sailor in a frame, t I supposed er Stiles, gone off to Sea; and anoture, of an angel, done