“I’ll be here at one in the morning. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. “You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. “But we only aid the beccamorti by giving them our business! I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for wood coffins and burial for lesser servants who could just as easily be dragged into the pit! Let the dead bury the dead!” “You fool! It is the gross lack of sanitation you speak of that has brought us to this very end. ‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. Your aunt and I have discussed all this matter. Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, Old Newgate was a large and strongly-built pile.
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