256 Lucy chose her words carefully. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. That can be very useful, that. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off. I do forgive him; but he will never know now.
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