At one time, she determined to go to Wych Street, and ask Mr. . She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. Their doors stood open, and placards with big letters indicated the section assigned to each. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. It was a mass of knick-knacks.
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