The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. " "Stop!" interposed Edgeworth Bess; "Mr. ‘You are outrageous.
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