‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. “Yes, I see that. “But that’s not all. She hunted the markets for bread and treats so they could feast during the day. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. Mr. “No, I must have had hope lurking somewhere too. gutenberg. It is perfectly intrusive of me, and I quite see that you must be sick to death of running into such an interfering busybody all the time. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea.
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