But here the resemblance stopped. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. “Is it your maid?” he asked. She was so interested, and this was such a relief from the trudging anxiety of her search for work, that she went on for a whole week as if she was still living at home. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. 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. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already.
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