“You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. For a time she promenaded the room. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. My poor Hoddy! I had to talk harshly, or break down and have hysterics.
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