‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. . ’ But she reckoned without the fellow Trodger. "Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. People running, screaming, hiding. She dare not risk it. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me.
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