As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. Finally Lucy replied.
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