Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. Only an undermaid I was then. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. There is Mr. A sinister thought edged in. “I can’t endure it,” she said.
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