Chapter Seventeen (第1/2页)
My name, in trinder. Noo an end.
took every one of us, save Dainty. took us, a us in gaol Street kitcas us in separate cells, and every day t of questions.
o you?
I said he was a friend of Mrs Sucksbys.
Been long, at Lant Street?
I said I here.
did you see, on t of the crime?
umbled. Sometimes it seemed to me t I ake up times I even seemed to remember seeing . I knoop, I knoter of tepped aleman started to stagger. But Mrs Sucksby here,
too, simes I t it I told trut I did not kno matter, any need me. Oook us, t me go.
t longer.
Mr Ibbs e first. rial lasted er all, not on at of t lying about tcoo good at taking tampings off, for t—but for tes in te box. t turned out, c Mr Ibbss s P remember, erm in gaol, at any cost—to plant tes on o olen goods: to Pentonville. Of course, be supposed to ime among t t, eful to get ara sside, urned against ime to visit er in. do me so queerly, I could not bear it. I didnt go again.
er, poor t Lant Street, al. too great a shock for her; and she died.
Jo be pio any crime, save—t—to t old one of dog-stealing. off s in toto flog tras above after, y met the prison
gate, and o s off from Lant Street.
I never spoke to ook a room for y in anot out of my -room, at Mrs Sucksbys trial.
trial came up very quick. I spent ts before it at Lant Street, lying aimes Dainty came back, to sleep beside me and keep me pany. S of all my old pals, , before—t I came out t I aken t room, in t seemed a sneaking sort of a of talked about my mot flo say I ter all; and Mrs Sucksby— bad—aken the blame . . .
in to me.
At any otime it care. I , and t o see Mrs Sucksby as often as I could. t all my days tting on tep outside te, oo early to be let in; talking o plead . Some pal of Mr Ibbss o sort of villains from t old me, ly, t our case he sake of her age.
More t could be proved s?
ted to it. ?
I did not kno anse of tepping into treet and calling out for a cab-man; and Id c my , and ttle of of people, tones be, er t ougo times I op, and remember Gentleman, gripping tomac our oo say it, noo everyone I sach me . . .?
I eers; if I o e, and o. I o be judge; if I o find it. But I did not. little fort I got, I got at Mrs Sucksbys side; and t least . I got to spend more time t to me younger and less of a ser, te to Mrs Sucksbys cell; and every time, s udy my face, lance beyond my sroubled look—as if, I t, not quite believing t me e again a to let me stay.
try at a smile. Dear girl. Quite alone?
Quite alone, Id answer.
ts good, ser.a moment, taking my it? Just you as good.
So sit like to talk. first Id ake back ory, my her I feared shed grow ill.
No more, s about t, ts all. I dont to it.
So t dander of , and only smooto groime I saw e
untouc of t me, more t seemed to me t everyt rigo be Lant Street, on finding a la all t I could make no on little diso try a -puddings. Oook remember time s me in old me about Nancy from Oliver t. I dont took it a distractedly aside, saying sry it later, like sold me to save my money. So them.
Many times simes so speak on some ater; but al t, surn tter aside and it . If t roubled by queer ideas, and doubts—I kept quiet as s time alked instead of me—of ure.
Youll keep up t Lant Street? shed say.
ont I! Id answer.
You think of leaving?
Leaving? o keep it ready, against t you out. . .
I did not tell ser, tell neig off calling; t a girl to me; t people—strangers—and, for a time, at tleman say y, to take tain from ts of er up, because tant scrubbing began to lift turn the pale
tell ures on ts upoes, t reaks and splaslemans blood.
And I did not say and scrubbed tctle reminders of my old life—dog-s on to mark my as I gre every one.
At nig, I dreamed of murder. I dreamed I killed a man, and o reets of London oo small to . I dreamed of Gentleman. I dreamed I met ttle red c Briar and omb of omb , and I cut to fit; and every nig to ime, just as t done, some queer disaster en in my fingers; t—t—I could not make, never make in time . . .
too late, Gentleman would say.
Oime the voice was Mauds.
too late.
I looked, but could not see her.
I seen t Gentleman died. I didnt kno into tie sa. I , from t t , lemans o do o let ic, or w. Dr Cie said only o examine
ill couldnt go near batubs. But o stagger and groion, to find ly cured. ails of lots of s out of it, I te made une.
Maud at liberty, ter t, so vaniso Briar. I kno Street. I supposed oo afraid!—for of course, I led her if she had.
I did : Peromorrow . . .
But, as I came instead, rial. It came in t. t on blazing all t a—being packed co ter on to try and cool it. I sat y. Id sit in t t. t alone, and cuffs on made yello against t. S came up, and sara o see ried. t my face among t, more easy. o mine, after t, as t on—too, about t, as if in searc t, however, her gaze would always fall.
abbed Gentleman in a moment of anger, m a quarrel over money ing of her room.
Sting of rooms? asked ting lawyer.
Yes, she said.
And not from tolen goods, or ts?
No.
t io say t different times, bits of poke; and—orse—found women w erwards died . . .
t like a clerks, and bed and s t took pla t Street kitig in take t! And least a minute, before she did.
At least a mie sure? You kno t clock, tc of t;
e all c s fell still, to do it. I never knee so long. t John.
As long as t? he said.
Joo cry. Yes, sir, ears.
t t, for o say it in murmurs be sure to note naturally it t made Gentlemans ory about t—
I nearly started out of my seat, Mrs Sucksbys eye. S me to be silent, I fell back; and it never came out t t because s, but because I o tand. Mrs Sucksby let t so hard, and shook so
badly, t. back to ys.
No-one old about me, and Maud. No-oioned Briar or old Mr Lilly. No-one came foro say t Gentleman ried to rob erfeit stock. t t young ma Mrs Sucksby t s to trial—and youll never believe it, but it turned out t all ales of being a gentlemans son off ter taug Ric .
ture in to it out and o ts.
But picture—and , and of vices, and sordid trades— it seemed to me as t be talking of sometirely, not of Gentleman, being , by mistake, in my oc. Even ed, and g ready to run as soon as it came; even ood and gave back t God as you so many dark and sentlemen speaking so many grave and monotonous and t and the lives of people like me and Mrs Sucksby.
t and and colour , already. S t, and I rose, and lifted my s my eye, and about the room, as if looking for
someone or somet settled and seemed to clear, and I follo and picked out, at tc s putting do ing to see ell you t fle fle. Sting alone. S of sign—to me, I mean; and o Mrs Sucksby.
to o sy o Mrs Sucksby again, ; and when I looked for Maud, she had gone.
t passed after t I remember, no a all, but as a single great endless day. It sleep—for take as of Mrs Sucksby, , darkness—for t lig burned all t; and in t be lig Lant Street—every lig I could borro alone, and c be ill at my side. I e. I o o o be o walk slowly back, here.
trons t stout Dr Cies, and tco start up ace find it in my to like ts—for surely, if truly Mrs Sucksby go? Io e and hang her.
I tried not to t, her, like before, I
found I could not t, could not believe it. , I t say. I kno to some sold me o like not to speak at all, only to feel tle oo, me imes to grohings unsaid . . .
But so me, t s for me to remember; and t —time I ever sao almost breaking, and t I s t, s o my aking t aing it fall, until it lay across to curl it. It seemed to me t I s enough, ever again.
you? I said.
I felt some tremor pass tter, dear girl, sh me.
No!
Ster, by far.
? ayed leman to Briar— O your side!
I , and again.
roked my my side. But I sat a be a c last . ttle in trips of sunlige flags of t could creep like t. It crept, like fingers. And from one o a the
matroo lay s time, s?
e stood. I looked at Mrs Sucksby. ill, but , o tremble.
Dear Sue, so me— So my ear. It tc mig dre say it! I t.—t kno say it! Sigorrohink back—
I , error, o ron I suppose must ouc umbling, into te.—I dont recall. I remember is passing turning a till shere . . .
t, but not tron at my side. She nodded.
One of em, s me. this m
I only er oo dazed and miserable to of trance, back to Lant Street—only keeping, as muco t of t to Mr Ibbss sep—to t, t kicked tood a mio get my breato look about me—at ter, streaked ; and
tools and key-blanks, t tain, t torn from its loops and csteps cime—I couldnt say and, and coals and ders still lay scattered on t seemed too ordinary a to do, to s t; and anyorn up boards. Under seemed dark, till y: t beloer s, ales and wriggling worms.
table o t and sat at it, in Mrs Sucksbys old c—poor C barked since Mr Ibbs ail, and came a me tug th his head on his paws.
I sat, as still and quiet as an y came. S us a supper. I didnt it, a solen a purse to buy it, and so I got out boe it sloime, as tcel—t eadily tig, tig a feo feel t to feel eace, eac you let me stay? said Dainty, ime fo. It dont seem rig I said t t ; and finally s; and t me and C us. I lit more lig of Mrs Sucksby, in cell. I t of t cea, lifting up kiss it. I t of , seemed to me, t icked before. I put my able, upon my arms. ired I . I meant to keep a I closed my eyes, and slept.
I slept, for once, dreaming; and I ramping and scuffing of feet, and treet outside. I t, in my must be a oday, t be a fair. day is it?—t o puddles of s; but t of t o be ime. to o get tc Street first, for a look at the house.
t on. as it ical spot. t and so ed in it.—t against ifled babies.—t.—Puts you into a creep, dont it?— Serves .—they say—
top a minute, and to ttled tcood at tried to see tters; but I kept everyt. I dont kno us in! A s of tabbed, e back to you!—but I t to tease t to tease me. I ed to close at my side, and sarted and tried to bark, tle.—At last I took airs, ter a ill; and t meant t ts for c time. I left C set of stairs alone—climbed tood at ttic door, afraid to go in. tand, t of oil-clotacked to t time I had e here,
Gentleman y and Joairs. I ood at t my to t turn to dirty er. Mrs Sucksby roked my to t, and looked, and almost sreets of t y t, and filled anding in topping traffid besides to posts and trees and cter vie o keep turned one way.
t te of t. A man , examining the drop.
I sa calm, feeling almost sick. I remembered o me: t I sc I s. It seemed suctle to bear, pared s suffer . . . esting t. tretc see. I began to be afraid. Still I t, I co till I said to myself, I for else I do for this?
But I said it; and teady striking of ten oclock. t tood doo teps of t do it. I put my back to th my hands.
I kne rose up from treets. t at triking of tart up s—t, I ker. s greant, turned again, moved
faster, like a sreets: t out: s off!, and s of dreadful laug rying to see rangers eyes straining out of ts to see being able to look, myself; but I could not, I could not. I could not turn, or tear ting en. I er urmurs and calls for meant t on, and on. My os seemed to fill it. till travelling about treets, ots of ts t t— broke out in an uneasy sort of murmur. t taken up by every t—turo somet meant t to t tying ting, about he noose . . .
And t—just a single moment, less time t takes to say it—of perfect, aillness: of topping of babies cries, to s and open mout: t be, t be, t, t— And, , too soon, too quick, ttle of t fell—ts lengtomac .
No for a sed. I opeurned, and sa Mrs Sucksby, not Mrs Sucksby at all, but o look like a and a go uffed raw—-
I moved a to t. topped t. ts, more cries, more dreadful laugo cheer myself,
at ot . Noened as t up, and it seemed to me, even in my grief, t I uood. S as . Shes dead—and were alive.
Dainty came again t nig me a any of it. e only togetalked of o tc off to climb it. I didnt say t to Dainty. S t, said t it rue, after all, t, o dropping Mrs Sucksby had held herself very boldly, and died very game.
I remembered t dangling tailors figure, gripped tigs corset and gown; and I wondered .
But t to be t on. to see to, no folloo look about me, ; to uand t t make my o, quite alone. I on t: a man y bared us alone si knoo take it. But I kneime. I kne, I supposed, take a regular job, at a dairy, a dyers, a furriers— t of it, however, made
me to be sick. Everybody in my regular ay crooked. Dainty said sreet-ted a fourt s, not quite catc street-tty poor lay, pared to o.
But it mig t for finding out anytter. I t or t for anyt all. Bit by bit, everyt at Lant Street ill dress I ry!—and no looked Dr Cies, and till. Dainty said I so ston, you could h me.
And so, uff I ed to take o ool of t to call on, to say good-bye to, I could not t do, before I ; and t hings, from horsemonger Lane.
I took Dainty t I could bear it all alone. e , one day iember—more ter trial. London urned, and t last. treets and stra ter t me t me, I t, in pity. So did trons. tied rings. Released, to Dauge in a book; and t my e my name quick as anyone Dr Cies . . . tone upon her grave, so no-one could e and mourn her; and
took me out ue, s lo roof, roof every day of t o to say goodbye, to take my give it.
t. I carried it of dread; and to make it ime I reac Street, I staggering: I quickly to tcable, a do and look at all of be inside: ogs, perill in toes and ticoats; — Dont do it! I t. Leave it! ! Open it some otime, not today, not now—.
I sat, and looked at Dainty.
Dainty, I said, I dont think I .
S her hand over mine.
I t to, ser our mots back from t t packet in a dra look at it for nearly a year; a peris to noter on to remember Mot all; save a little che end, fin-money . . .
I sa face ears.
All rig. Ill do it.
My ill so me and tried to undo its strings, I found trooo tigy tried. S undo t time, after Gentleman died, o look at any kind of blade, ake t a single s me—in tugged and picked at ts again, but no damp. At last,
I lifted to my moutook s eetrings unravelled and t of its folds. I started back. Mrs Sucksbys sticoats and b came tumbling out upon table-top, looking just as I ar, came affeta gown.
I t of t. I? It t looked like Mrs Sucksby of sill o its breast. Someone —I didnt care about t—but t poaffeta itself iff. t rusty. t raced about e: t, and ain h chalk.
to me like marks on Mrs Sucksbys own body.
Oy, I said, I t bear it! Fetcer, o rub. Dainty rubbed, too. e rubbed in t t. t up to me and began to .
And, as I did, tling, sound.
Dainty put do? s knohe sound came again.
Is it a moty. Is it flapping about, inside?
I s t sounds like a paper. Perrons somethere
But , and looked i all. tling came again, seemed to me t it came from part of t part of t of t my o it, a about. taffeta tiff—stiff not just from taining of Gentlemans blood, but from somet
stuck, or been put, be, bet and tin lining of t ? I could not tell, from feeling. So tur, and looked at tin to fray. It made a sort of pocket, in t Dainty; t in my rustled again, and she drew back.
Are you sure it aint a mot?
But ter. Mrs Sucksby guess. I t at first t s it t sten it, in gaol—t i
（本章未完，请点击下一页继续阅读）
记住手机版网址：wap.966xs.com
My name, in trinder. Noo an end.
took every one of us, save Dainty. took us, a us in gaol Street kitcas us in separate cells, and every day t of questions.
o you?
I said he was a friend of Mrs Sucksbys.
Been long, at Lant Street?
I said I here.
did you see, on t of the crime?
umbled. Sometimes it seemed to me t I ake up times I even seemed to remember seeing . I knoop, I knoter of tepped aleman started to stagger. But Mrs Sucksby here,
too, simes I t it I told trut I did not kno matter, any need me. Oook us, t me go.
t longer.
Mr Ibbs e first. rial lasted er all, not on at of t lying about tcoo good at taking tampings off, for t—but for tes in te box. t turned out, c Mr Ibbss s P remember, erm in gaol, at any cost—to plant tes on o olen goods: to Pentonville. Of course, be supposed to ime among t t, eful to get ara sside, urned against ime to visit er in. do me so queerly, I could not bear it. I didnt go again.
er, poor t Lant Street, al. too great a shock for her; and she died.
Jo be pio any crime, save—t—to t old one of dog-stealing. off s in toto flog tras above after, y met the prison
gate, and o s off from Lant Street.
I never spoke to ook a room for y in anot out of my -room, at Mrs Sucksbys trial.
trial came up very quick. I spent ts before it at Lant Street, lying aimes Dainty came back, to sleep beside me and keep me pany. S of all my old pals, , before—t I came out t I aken t room, in t seemed a sneaking sort of a of talked about my mot flo say I ter all; and Mrs Sucksby— bad—aken the blame . . .
in to me.
At any otime it care. I , and t o see Mrs Sucksby as often as I could. t all my days tting on tep outside te, oo early to be let in; talking o plead . Some pal of Mr Ibbss o sort of villains from t old me, ly, t our case he sake of her age.
More t could be proved s?
ted to it. ?
I did not kno anse of tepping into treet and calling out for a cab-man; and Id c my , and ttle of of people, tones be, er t ougo times I op, and remember Gentleman, gripping tomac our oo say it, noo everyone I sach me . . .?
I eers; if I o e, and o. I o be judge; if I o find it. But I did not. little fort I got, I got at Mrs Sucksbys side; and t least . I got to spend more time t to me younger and less of a ser, te to Mrs Sucksbys cell; and every time, s udy my face, lance beyond my sroubled look—as if, I t, not quite believing t me e again a to let me stay.
try at a smile. Dear girl. Quite alone?
Quite alone, Id answer.
ts good, ser.a moment, taking my it? Just you as good.
So sit like to talk. first Id ake back ory, my her I feared shed grow ill.
No more, s about t, ts all. I dont to it.
So t dander of , and only smooto groime I saw e
untouc of t me, more t seemed to me t everyt rigo be Lant Street, on finding a la all t I could make no on little diso try a -puddings. Oook remember time s me in old me about Nancy from Oliver t. I dont took it a distractedly aside, saying sry it later, like sold me to save my money. So them.
Many times simes so speak on some ater; but al t, surn tter aside and it . If t roubled by queer ideas, and doubts—I kept quiet as s time alked instead of me—of ure.
Youll keep up t Lant Street? shed say.
ont I! Id answer.
You think of leaving?
Leaving? o keep it ready, against t you out. . .
I did not tell ser, tell neig off calling; t a girl to me; t people—strangers—and, for a time, at tleman say y, to take tain from ts of er up, because tant scrubbing began to lift turn the pale
tell ures on ts upoes, t reaks and splaslemans blood.
And I did not say and scrubbed tctle reminders of my old life—dog-s on to mark my as I gre every one.
At nig, I dreamed of murder. I dreamed I killed a man, and o reets of London oo small to . I dreamed of Gentleman. I dreamed I met ttle red c Briar and omb of omb , and I cut to fit; and every nig to ime, just as t done, some queer disaster en in my fingers; t—t—I could not make, never make in time . . .
too late, Gentleman would say.
Oime the voice was Mauds.
too late.
I looked, but could not see her.
I seen t Gentleman died. I didnt kno into tie sa. I , from t t , lemans o do o let ic, or w. Dr Cie said only o examine
ill couldnt go near batubs. But o stagger and groion, to find ly cured. ails of lots of s out of it, I te made une.
Maud at liberty, ter t, so vaniso Briar. I kno Street. I supposed oo afraid!—for of course, I led her if she had.
I did : Peromorrow . . .
But, as I came instead, rial. It came in t. t on blazing all t a—being packed co ter on to try and cool it. I sat y. Id sit in t t. t alone, and cuffs on made yello against t. S came up, and sara o see ried. t my face among t, more easy. o mine, after t, as t on—too, about t, as if in searc t, however, her gaze would always fall.
abbed Gentleman in a moment of anger, m a quarrel over money ing of her room.
Sting of rooms? asked ting lawyer.
Yes, she said.
And not from tolen goods, or ts?
No.
t io say t different times, bits of poke; and—orse—found women w erwards died . . .
t like a clerks, and bed and s t took pla t Street kitig in take t! And least a minute, before she did.
At least a mie sure? You kno t clock, tc of t;
e all c s fell still, to do it. I never knee so long. t John.
As long as t? he said.
Joo cry. Yes, sir, ears.
t t, for o say it in murmurs be sure to note naturally it t made Gentlemans ory about t—
I nearly started out of my seat, Mrs Sucksbys eye. S me to be silent, I fell back; and it never came out t t because s, but because I o tand. Mrs Sucksby let t so hard, and shook so
badly, t. back to ys.
No-one old about me, and Maud. No-oioned Briar or old Mr Lilly. No-one came foro say t Gentleman ried to rob erfeit stock. t t young ma Mrs Sucksby t s to trial—and youll never believe it, but it turned out t all ales of being a gentlemans son off ter taug Ric .
ture in to it out and o ts.
But picture—and , and of vices, and sordid trades— it seemed to me as t be talking of sometirely, not of Gentleman, being , by mistake, in my oc. Even ed, and g ready to run as soon as it came; even ood and gave back t God as you so many dark and sentlemen speaking so many grave and monotonous and t and the lives of people like me and Mrs Sucksby.
t and and colour , already. S t, and I rose, and lifted my s my eye, and about the room, as if looking for
someone or somet settled and seemed to clear, and I follo and picked out, at tc s putting do ing to see ell you t fle fle. Sting alone. S of sign—to me, I mean; and o Mrs Sucksby.
to o sy o Mrs Sucksby again, ; and when I looked for Maud, she had gone.
t passed after t I remember, no a all, but as a single great endless day. It sleep—for take as of Mrs Sucksby, , darkness—for t lig burned all t; and in t be lig Lant Street—every lig I could borro alone, and c be ill at my side. I e. I o o o be o walk slowly back, here.
trons t stout Dr Cies, and tco start up ace find it in my to like ts—for surely, if truly Mrs Sucksby go? Io e and hang her.
I tried not to t, her, like before, I
found I could not t, could not believe it. , I t say. I kno to some sold me o like not to speak at all, only to feel tle oo, me imes to grohings unsaid . . .
But so me, t s for me to remember; and t —time I ever sao almost breaking, and t I s t, s o my aking t aing it fall, until it lay across to curl it. It seemed to me t I s enough, ever again.
you? I said.
I felt some tremor pass tter, dear girl, sh me.
No!
Ster, by far.
? ayed leman to Briar— O your side!
I , and again.
roked my my side. But I sat a be a c last . ttle in trips of sunlige flags of t could creep like t. It crept, like fingers. And from one o a the
matroo lay s time, s?
e stood. I looked at Mrs Sucksby. ill, but , o tremble.
Dear Sue, so me— So my ear. It tc mig dre say it! I t.—t kno say it! Sigorrohink back—
I , error, o ron I suppose must ouc umbling, into te.—I dont recall. I remember is passing turning a till shere . . .
t, but not tron at my side. She nodded.
One of em, s me. this m
I only er oo dazed and miserable to of trance, back to Lant Street—only keeping, as muco t of t to Mr Ibbss sep—to t, t kicked tood a mio get my breato look about me—at ter, streaked ; and
tools and key-blanks, t tain, t torn from its loops and csteps cime—I couldnt say and, and coals and ders still lay scattered on t seemed too ordinary a to do, to s t; and anyorn up boards. Under seemed dark, till y: t beloer s, ales and wriggling worms.
table o t and sat at it, in Mrs Sucksbys old c—poor C barked since Mr Ibbs ail, and came a me tug th his head on his paws.
I sat, as still and quiet as an y came. S us a supper. I didnt it, a solen a purse to buy it, and so I got out boe it sloime, as tcel—t eadily tig, tig a feo feel t to feel eace, eac you let me stay? said Dainty, ime fo. It dont seem rig I said t t ; and finally s; and t me and C us. I lit more lig of Mrs Sucksby, in cell. I t of t cea, lifting up kiss it. I t of , seemed to me, t icked before. I put my able, upon my arms. ired I . I meant to keep a I closed my eyes, and slept.
I slept, for once, dreaming; and I ramping and scuffing of feet, and treet outside. I t, in my must be a oday, t be a fair. day is it?—t o puddles of s; but t of t o be ime. to o get tc Street first, for a look at the house.
t on. as it ical spot. t and so ed in it.—t against ifled babies.—t.—Puts you into a creep, dont it?— Serves .—they say—
top a minute, and to ttled tcood at tried to see tters; but I kept everyt. I dont kno us in! A s of tabbed, e back to you!—but I t to tease t to tease me. I ed to close at my side, and sarted and tried to bark, tle.—At last I took airs, ter a ill; and t meant t ts for c time. I left C set of stairs alone—climbed tood at ttic door, afraid to go in. tand, t of oil-clotacked to t time I had e here,
Gentleman y and Joairs. I ood at t my to t turn to dirty er. Mrs Sucksby roked my to t, and looked, and almost sreets of t y t, and filled anding in topping traffid besides to posts and trees and cter vie o keep turned one way.
t te of t. A man , examining the drop.
I sa calm, feeling almost sick. I remembered o me: t I sc I s. It seemed suctle to bear, pared s suffer . . . esting t. tretc see. I began to be afraid. Still I t, I co till I said to myself, I for else I do for this?
But I said it; and teady striking of ten oclock. t tood doo teps of t do it. I put my back to th my hands.
I kne rose up from treets. t at triking of tart up s—t, I ker. s greant, turned again, moved
faster, like a sreets: t out: s off!, and s of dreadful laug rying to see rangers eyes straining out of ts to see being able to look, myself; but I could not, I could not. I could not turn, or tear ting en. I er urmurs and calls for meant t on, and on. My os seemed to fill it. till travelling about treets, ots of ts t t— broke out in an uneasy sort of murmur. t taken up by every t—turo somet meant t to t tying ting, about he noose . . .
And t—just a single moment, less time t takes to say it—of perfect, aillness: of topping of babies cries, to s and open mout: t be, t be, t, t— And, , too soon, too quick, ttle of t fell—ts lengtomac .
No for a sed. I opeurned, and sa Mrs Sucksby, not Mrs Sucksby at all, but o look like a and a go uffed raw—-
I moved a to t. topped t. ts, more cries, more dreadful laugo cheer myself,
at ot . Noened as t up, and it seemed to me, even in my grief, t I uood. S as . Shes dead—and were alive.
Dainty came again t nig me a any of it. e only togetalked of o tc off to climb it. I didnt say t to Dainty. S t, said t it rue, after all, t, o dropping Mrs Sucksby had held herself very boldly, and died very game.
I remembered t dangling tailors figure, gripped tigs corset and gown; and I wondered .
But t to be t on. to see to, no folloo look about me, ; to uand t t make my o, quite alone. I on t: a man y bared us alone si knoo take it. But I kneime. I kne, I supposed, take a regular job, at a dairy, a dyers, a furriers— t of it, however, made
me to be sick. Everybody in my regular ay crooked. Dainty said sreet-ted a fourt s, not quite catc street-tty poor lay, pared to o.
But it mig t for finding out anytter. I t or t for anyt all. Bit by bit, everyt at Lant Street ill dress I ry!—and no looked Dr Cies, and till. Dainty said I so ston, you could h me.
And so, uff I ed to take o ool of t to call on, to say good-bye to, I could not t do, before I ; and t hings, from horsemonger Lane.
I took Dainty t I could bear it all alone. e , one day iember—more ter trial. London urned, and t last. treets and stra ter t me t me, I t, in pity. So did trons. tied rings. Released, to Dauge in a book; and t my e my name quick as anyone Dr Cies . . . tone upon her grave, so no-one could e and mourn her; and
took me out ue, s lo roof, roof every day of t o to say goodbye, to take my give it.
t. I carried it of dread; and to make it ime I reac Street, I staggering: I quickly to tcable, a do and look at all of be inside: ogs, perill in toes and ticoats; — Dont do it! I t. Leave it! ! Open it some otime, not today, not now—.
I sat, and looked at Dainty.
Dainty, I said, I dont think I .
S her hand over mine.
I t to, ser our mots back from t t packet in a dra look at it for nearly a year; a peris to noter on to remember Mot all; save a little che end, fin-money . . .
I sa face ears.
All rig. Ill do it.
My ill so me and tried to undo its strings, I found trooo tigy tried. S undo t time, after Gentleman died, o look at any kind of blade, ake t a single s me—in tugged and picked at ts again, but no damp. At last,
I lifted to my moutook s eetrings unravelled and t of its folds. I started back. Mrs Sucksbys sticoats and b came tumbling out upon table-top, looking just as I ar, came affeta gown.
I t of t. I? It t looked like Mrs Sucksby of sill o its breast. Someone —I didnt care about t—but t poaffeta itself iff. t rusty. t raced about e: t, and ain h chalk.
to me like marks on Mrs Sucksbys own body.
Oy, I said, I t bear it! Fetcer, o rub. Dainty rubbed, too. e rubbed in t t. t up to me and began to .
And, as I did, tling, sound.
Dainty put do? s knohe sound came again.
Is it a moty. Is it flapping about, inside?
I s t sounds like a paper. Perrons somethere
But , and looked i all. tling came again, seemed to me t it came from part of t part of t of t my o it, a about. taffeta tiff—stiff not just from taining of Gentlemans blood, but from somet
stuck, or been put, be, bet and tin lining of t ? I could not tell, from feeling. So tur, and looked at tin to fray. It made a sort of pocket, in t Dainty; t in my rustled again, and she drew back.
Are you sure it aint a mot?
But ter. Mrs Sucksby guess. I t at first t s it t sten it, in gaol—t i
（本章未完，请点击下一页继续阅读）
记住手机版网址：wap.966xs.com