"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. We had no idea. Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction. 6.
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