But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally. They are used to me, they only cry because they have become so used to being here. "Has any one been here?" he asked. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. “My God!” he said again. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it.
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