’ Fury rippled again. He envied her a little. It's of no use. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. The lights rolled over, and were extinguished. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself.
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