" "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. " "None whatever," rejoined Wild.
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