aking bites of bread and sips of coffee, and once

    rubbing for a minute at a spot upon  te!

    I sa mark, til t came to take tray ao e again—so  a neer, as I put coal on  t te, and they looked like gloves for a doll.

    Sainly, t you   Lant Street? I did not t ty lonely, and pretty bookis be, in a ?  to tening rain, but so go out ood at ttle black press, looking over s, s and s. t killed nearly an s w.  her hands upon mine and said,

    Be slower. o here?

    S her eyes were sad. I said, No, miss.

    In t on a pale grey cloak, and over tens. Stle leat ready, t tle of er, and scissors: s saying  to cut flo staircase to to ts.  outside ood blinking, our  our eyes against tery sun. t sa, at nighe

    fog and I so say it seemed less grim  seemed   nos cs roof s. It ains  t of trunks of ivy. It  front door, split do rain o press , and e sideo leave t all.

    It o see epping out of t gloomy place, like a pearl coming out of an oyster.

    It o cer s at her back.

    But t muco stay for, out in t avenue of trees, t led up to t of gravel t t in. t grely nettles; and an overgro ttle stone  cross to tand and gaze at til s tarted a muddy lane, t led you to a s-up old red c, quietest place I ever sao go to it, but Maud took t en. For at t one tomb, t her.

    S and look at t for an  a time,  for gat only for keeping do gre it; and ters of lead s o take off stains.

    Sil  me  first day, wried, she said,

    It is a daugy, to tend to t ch me.