She never knew what became of her farmer after that. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. ‘Pitiful. In the first place, it will be damnably dull. " "What do you think of my sketch, Jack?" said Hogarth, handing him the drawing. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. She was bathed in turbid water that had already been used.
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