She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. " "Then the sooner I'm off the better," cried Wood; "what's to pay, David?" "Don't affront me, Owen, by asking such a question," returned the landlord; "hadn't you better stop and finish the bottle?" "Not a drop more," replied Wood. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. There was. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald.
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