And they pay her. Not us. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. A silence ensued. Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. "I could hang him now if I liked.
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