She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. ’ ‘Pah! Your major will say something to this. "Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. . A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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