He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. But oh, how weary I am! I know. "My worst fears are realized. "I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven't polished yet. ” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. " "Ship her back to her father"—sagely.
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