Her strength failed her, and she fell exhausted upon Mrs. Lovett's door-step.
"Heartless!—heartless ever!" she cried. "May the judgment of the Almighty reach him—may he suffer—yes—may he suffer only what I have suffered."
"Who and what are you?" said Mrs. Lovett.
"Poor, and therefore everything that is abject and despicable in London."
"What a truth," said Mrs. Lovett. "What a truth that is. Who would not do even as I do to avoid poverty in a widowed life!—It is too horrible. Amid savages it is nothing, but here it is indeed criminality of the deepest dye. Whom did you call after, woman?"
"My husband."
"Husband. Describe him."
"A sottish-looking man, with moustache. Once seen, he is not easily mistaken—ruffian and villain are stamped by nature upon his face."
Mrs. Lovett winced a little.
"Come in," she said, "I will relieve you for the present. Come in."