“I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck.
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