"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. . That can be very useful, that. Get it off your soul. I don't know anything about you. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. She lied. Sheppard prepared for church.
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