“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. . The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head.
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