is  is c .—C! s retcired I am!  a days o a mad s? er? t may come later, I suppose. No matter if it does. Sues birthday

    falls at tart of August. e o persuade you into our plot. I t.

    I am gazing at  cannot speak. I am till, of Sue. ilts  say . her, he adds, would have been sorry, also.

    My motart to say.—I tc, I  t of tcs o retc, and coug deliberate kind of way.

    Noleman, says Mrs Sucksby anxiously as , dont tease her.

    tease ill pulls at  c t, from talking.

    You oo mucs  it?—Miss Lilly, dont mind y of time for talking of t.

    Of my motrue mot you made out to be Sues. t c choked, on a pin.

    On a pin! says Ric? Mrs Sucksby bites o them.

    in me, noo be astonis hief I suppose will do . . .

    Ric, grave. Gentleman, s got noto tell Miss Lilly, noo say to a girl in private.

    o hem.

    Ss, but  leave. Ss beside me; again, I flinch away.

    Dear girl, s of it is, t a pleasant o tell it; and I ougo kno once already, to Sue. Your mots  Richard.

    tell her, he says. Or I will.

    So took before ts, not just for t for killing a man; and—o!

    hanged?

    A murderess, Maud, says Riche window of my room—

    Gentleman, I mean it!

    . I say again, hanged!

    ever it means,  better. tudies my face. Dear girl, dont t, s does it matter no you? rouble  you here.

    Ss a lamp: a score of gaudy surfaces—tead, cs upon tel-sart out of to tand, and again s soap! Got from a s. Come in a year ago—I