rted out of my seat, Mrs Sucksbys eye. S me to be silent, I fell back; and it never came out t t because s, but because I o tand. Mrs Sucksby let t so hard, and shook so
badly, t. back to ys.
No-one old about me, and Maud. No-one mentioned Briar or old Mr Lilly. No-one came foro say t Gentleman ried to rob erfeit stock. t t young man ure; t Mrs Sucksby t s to trial—and youll never believe it, but it turned out t all ales of being a gentlemans son off ter taug Ric .
ture in to it out and next to ts.
But picture—and , and of vices, and sordid trades— it seemed to me as t be talking of sometirely, not of Gentleman, being , by mistake, in my oc. Even ed, and cting ready to run as soon as it came; even ood and gave back t God as you so many dark and sober gentlemen speaking so many grave and monotonous and t and the lives of people like me and Mrs Sucksby.
t and and colour , already. S t, and I rose, and lifted my s my eye, and c roam about the room, as if looking for
someone or somet settled and seemed to clear, and I follo and picked out, at tc s putting do ing to see ell you t fle fle. Sting alone. S of sign—to me, I mean; and none to Mrs Sucksby.
to o sy o Mrs Sucksby again, ; and when I looked for Maud, she had gone.
t passed after t I remember, no a all, but as a single great endless day. It sleep—for take as of Mrs Sucksby, , darkness—for t lig burned all t; and in t be lig Lant Street—every lig I could borro alone, and c be ill at my side. I e. I o o o be o walk slowly back, here.
trons t stout Dr Cies, and tco start up ace find it in my to like ts—for surely, if truly Mrs Sucksby go? Instead to come and hang her.
I tried not to t, her, like before, I
found I could not t, could not believe it. , I cant say. I kno to some sold me o like not to speak at all, only to feel tle oo, me imes to grohings unsaid . . .
But so me, t s for me to remember