"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing.
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