Sheppard, bitterly. ‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. ’ ‘Dear me. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. “I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother.
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