Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase. Twenty-one, twenty-two. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. "I was only just in time. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. ’ What would you tell her?” “If she asked advice, I should say she wasn’t fit to do anything of the sort.
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