“Annabel;” he moaned. " "What is it?" asked the poor woman. She came to London, and tried several things without any success. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. ” “You alarm me,” she murmured, smiling.
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