" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. "What do you want with me?" "A word in private," replied the other. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. ” “We won’t go to any of these City places.
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