‘It is pretty. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. She was the first to recover herself. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. They had as many designations as grades. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. She was very excited. They blinded me. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes.
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