“Odd!” she said. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. She received into her slack grasp the pistol and dagger, only half aware of taking them. ‘But with more courage in her little finger than in many another female’s entire body. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. The pistol was lowered slightly. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence.
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