ToC About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small backparlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured,—"Heaven be praised! she still slumbers—slumbers peacefully. “She told you that?” “Yes. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. Anything else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from that. Not very long, if you want to get well. It is the same man, for he raved in the hospital, and they fetched me. I could resist the tempter now, I am strong in health,—in mind. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised.
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