“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. She brought the cups of cocoa back to the bedroom. You and the girl have made it soft for him, and I'm going to make it soft for him. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it.
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