But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that.
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