Now you know why to-morrow they will kill me, why my mother is mad.
Hush! I am tired. Let me sleep in peace.
And on the morrow he slept.
Ouida.
STUDIES IN THE SLUMS.
III.—NAN; OR, A GIRL'S LIFE.
"An' this one? Lord have mercy on her, an' forgive me for saying it the way I do every time I look at her! It comes out of itself, an' there's times when I could think for a minute that He will; an' then it comes over me like a blackness on everything that her chance is gone. Look at that one by her. Ain't he a rough? Ain't he just fit for the Rogues' Gallery, an' nowhere else? And yet—Well, it's a long story, an' you won't want to hear it all."