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Descending the hollow, or rather excavation,—for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,—he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return,—to all which Black Mary readily agreed,—he departed with a heart lightened of half its load. Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Sheppard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver. It is just the aim I have had in view all the time. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. "Where is he?" asked Jonathan. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. He had no ideas about daughters. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. Only an undermaid I was then. There are so many girls nowadays who are quite unpresentable at tea, with their untrimmed laughs, their awful dispositions of their legs when they sit down, their slangy disrespect; they no longer smoke, it is true, like the girls of the eighties and nineties, nevertheless to a fine intelligence they have the flavor of tobacco. What a treat to see all the old tabbies taken at fault for once!’ ‘You are a dreadful child,’ scolded Mrs Sindlesham, with which Melusine could not but agree, despite the dimple rioting in her great-aunt’s cheek. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning.
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