there es a kind of chaos.

        ts bla gives a cry; anot I    noticed—it lies in a tin box, beable—begins to cry also. Ricakes off    and , sets doret.

        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 °ake care of a fe points.—Mr Ibbs, how are you, sir?

        S, son, taken off ing to us has

        gole brazier is cooling and tig 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. Nid dainty at teete as c, I dare say? Oh!

        I ood, as if in a trance, aer 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 .

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

        Damn your attitudes noell me    yours?

        Is it .

        Jo, or Ill t mind !

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

        Not mine,    last.

        Not ours? hen?

        ired. It is to the Bh.

        tand for a moment in silehinking 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 five 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 ko dra let , tainly kill me. For a sed ruggle. titcc ead.

        take me back, I say. I say it, t let t my voice    make it firm. take me back, at oo treets and haeys.

        do it.

        take me noudied it,    a—a poli!

        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 Rig. 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 beable—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    behere is a

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

        mildly; and I bee a. I set table, among tes and ce, 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 wele han anyone?

        I still stle. I t 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 bo? You ser, c you slip off yloves?—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 er, 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. Risens tring of my bo 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 doo    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 a 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     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 on 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 td, till burning from t of tting of to tremble.

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

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

        Nill? 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 e 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 yrip a strong one! Gentleman, you e along, too, ake your old room, at top?

        I will, .

        t ands close. I soo, a 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 es, 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 clute, but my arms groairs; t to tand and pours a little er from to take, in ing 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 ao be tricked. Seps, too.    trickery, darling?

        Do you t to e o stay?

        I tartled. I t quite yourself. Not quite myself? s myself to you? o say     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, le 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 fortuell me you s get it, tcer some slig tracts. Clever Sue. Good girl.

        S up, Maud.

        . the deed upon your sce. 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 uandio 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 seo you. No matter all ting patook to reac aken t kno t    eps.

        I glauer 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, fentleman to kip in    of room it is, I    tell you. Seen all manner of business up ts of tricks. People been knoo e —sends surprise— t be found—do you see?—whey e 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 distra. Noas 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 a me sell it for you!—I mean, to people t    infants, for servants or apprentices, or fular sons and daug t?—and people like me, providing ts? No? Again, I make no aill so me. Poor tried to    soo far on, s sick. "; 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 g. 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 ing. takes a day and a nigo e, all rigs a s te made rags of. t;s t, Mrs Sucksby?" s;ts your baby, my dear!" I tell ;My baby?" says s;Is my baby a boy, irl?" "Its a girl," I say. And ;to girls. I wis;

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

        ty, g again . . . S    I, Miss Lilly? Not findiiresome, dear? Aint muco erest, perales ..."

        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 doo raise ; I said. "You, a lady,    a ; S to go abroad, ;Ill see my daugo a poor man before s; s;Im ty life." 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 Fra il one nigting o cs t first put o me: I see rouble. t do you tracked er all. "t; says t;Lord    to tell t t; Ss black. "t; s;and a bully to    your lady out nory to !"

        ell! t all, and started s;O; s;O only    to France!"—but trip doairs ;take my baby!" s;take        as omb! take urn    against me—o even named    even named ; ts all s;I    even named ;—"Name ; I said, just to make . "Name ill got t; "I ; she said.

        "But, ;ell," I said, "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 read 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 torle square of li    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 ot ans    a her— My uncle— I look up. My uncle. hy should my uncle lie?

        ell trut last. I dare ss t of unluess—    a ma care to talk about too freely . . .

        I gaze again at t upon it I liked, as a girl, to suppose made by a bayo. 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, o    in a cell, says Ricime to time, for tisfa 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 sdrel 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 brio trid surprise me?

        Surprise you?    Maud, o do t.

        I dont uand 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 Rie and, so fused 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, Medie. hey, Maud?

        I    ans. I sit, at last, upourning 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. tigs, no more t?

        I dont kime, to tell me—

        But Mrs Sucksby o me, and ligouches my arm.

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

        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        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 g at o to    o tairs, just outside t door—silts s ops. S me, and I see ;e t!" I say. " ; 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    aill s! Dont you ; s;some moto my fat you? Dont you? Fods sake, say you do! ty pounds in t of my goell a living soul youve do."

        Per i—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, as 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." "Ill do it!" sraig;Ill do it!" 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 opeill 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, "ake o s a name for a lady after all. Remember your ; "Remember yours!" 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

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

        t dying men see, played before tness, ton    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 e. 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 i, bring out my bottle of medie: 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, a 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, ao 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, t you? I believe youve bruised her. Oh, dear girl.

        Soo be grateful, raigting back    I    done ime in t t to kno again, and t 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—fiust end. o.

        It    ious. My    not so t I ot, noo be fearful of ell me , 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 Ris 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 instru: to Be Opened oer, Susan Lilly.—I see t name, and s s jealously and, like my u 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 plaside 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 o tell me, by a    o t soon finis o    turn out no sook ion from the

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

        Rico look crafty. As for me, s t to get tune    be, t I een years furing 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 Rig so    girls seek only to be t fanguished.

        I look from o Mrs Sucksby, saying not often of you, s on. I supposed you     you mig yrand-dad and uncle sake you a. t yrand-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 e 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 Ried 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 eunes . . . 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 Rik we shall.

        vince 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 sider t. t,    o lose? Dear Maud, you o your name—w so much as a name!

        I    my fio 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. iess,    terms! terms of fi. Do you t    in ttas—for edys sake? Look about you, Maud. Step to to treet. t fi. It is    is c .—C! s retcired I am!    a days o a mad s? er? t may e 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    ot 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 retd 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. e in a year ago—I sa e and t, "No!" 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 stogs, and stays! Bless me, al drops— one pair of blue, o es 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 ?

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

        Sepped back. Dear girl, s Rig take you?

        I despise you, I say, fing 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 panions? Only    till I    my u 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 uook 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 onplace

        girl of     give he life you had from

        her?

        You have killed her! I say.

        Killed ors about    dont e cell you.

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

        me.

        You see, dear girl? Killed     for me!    nursed ook sick?    t do you t o me, er, s, in parison 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. Rids 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 k 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.
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