Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. . The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. She could feel her face turning beet red. The affair was thick with sinister suggestions. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. This she would not endure. I said I’d do anything.
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