5. I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam. Imbecile. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. ” Lucy answered, disturbed at how rehearsed the apology sounded. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. CHAPTER XXIX.
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