The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. She glimpsed Chinese penury when she entered a square given over to the fishmongers. Come, make yourself scarce. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob.
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