“Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. ‘Well?’ she said. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron.
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