Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. But it is not your name. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. ’ ‘Then you will die at the hands of the canaille. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. Slipshod; follow me.
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