"I do," she said, leaning against the wall of Bedford Garden, where one of Heming's new lights, set up at the next corner, shone full on her face. "And I am weary of it."
"But if you are weary of it----"
"If I am weary of it, why don't I free myself instead of preaching to you?" she answered. "First, because I am a woman, Mr. Wiseman."
"I don't see what that has to do with it," I retorted.
"Don't you?" she answered bitterly. "Then I will tell you. My uncle feeds me, clothes me, gives me a roof--and sometimes beats me. If I run away as I bid you run away, where shall I find board and lodging, or anything but the beating? A man comes and goes; a woman, if she has not someone to answer for her, must to the Justice and then to the Round-house and be set to beating hemp; and her shoulders smarting to boot. Can I get service without a character?"
"No," I said, "that is true."
"Or travel without money?"
"No."
"Or alone--except to Whetstone Park?"
"No."