‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. Worse than any man. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. ” They returned to the Beck house and he walked her to the front door. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks.
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