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White, my landlady, believes his story. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. She’s already spoken for. He will let you live if it pleases him. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. I didn’t understand. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. Say, that girl fooled me at first glance.
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