I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. “Yes. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. I begin to fear I might be purposely go out of the way. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken.
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