I can’t imagine what possessed you, Veronica. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. Well, after a time there came a fever in my blood. You should have known better, you cannot die, so your body and your instinct will 213 take over as your mind departs. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. Down in my part of the world it's all a man has to go by.
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