She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London. Mr. I’ve made no one happy. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained.
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