’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things.
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