"My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. “The smallest will do for me quite well. That is why I would not marry this man whom I did and whom I do care for a little. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness.
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