Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. “What he had was altogether insufficient. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. He saw now that it was merely a boy. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price.
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