Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. “Yes, I remember,” she said. E. "Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. If you choose to requite me by detaining me, you are at liberty to do so.
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