And all the time poor Esther was swallowing her sobs, and over-
acting her part, and controlling herself more than she had done for
many a long day, in order that her niece might not be shocked and
revolted, by the knowledge of what her aunt had become--a
prostitute; an outcast.
She had longed to open her wretched, wretched heart, so hopeless, so
abandoned by all living things, to one who had loved her once; and
yet she refrained, from dread of the averted eye, the altered voice,
the internal loathing, which she feared such disclosure might
create. She would go straight to the subject of the day. She could
not tarry long, for she felt unable to support the character she had
assumed for any length of time.
They sat by the little round table, facing each other. The candle
was placed right between them, and Esther moved it in order to have
a clearer view of Mary's face, so that she might read her emotions,
and ascertain her interests.
Then she began--
"It's a bad business, I'm afraid, this of Mr. Carson's murder."
Mary winced a little.
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