Let me take the satchel, sir. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there.
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