” “Clear out?” cried Hetty. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. " "Jonathan Wild was my husband's bitterest enemy," said Mrs. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. Jackson: "ha! ha!" "Not in the least, Ma'am," echoed Mr. ‘And then you will be obliged to remain in France,’ she pointed out. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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