She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. He backed away from her. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. “I’ll turn you here.
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