"If you'll tell me where to look for these things, and I do find them, I'll set you free. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. What you would look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no more ado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerk in a shop. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down 458 XXXI. Your kid has already brought me good luck, and may bring me still more if his edication's attended to.
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