Supper was over. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. I’ll give you an uncrossed check, and then you can get it at the bank here, quite close by. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. ‘Don’t tell me. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem.
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