Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. The bridge was open. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. ‘What can I do, miss?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive.
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