“You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you.
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