Stop it!” Anna stepped back bewildered, but the man held out his arms to her. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. She is a stranger to you. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. ” “I do it—of my own free will,” said Ann Veronica, kissing his hand again. 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.
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