"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. You would suffer the torments of the damned for what you had done. I cannot protect you. " "He'll scarcely need a plaister," replied Mrs. ” “And my heart has ached for him!” “Oh, no doubt it cut him at the time. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver.
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