"I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. They were terrible, horrible people. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire.
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