"She came
in, the night before last, and said she had not a penny to get a
place for shelter; and that if she was far away in the country she
could steal aside and die in a copse, or a clough, like the wild
animals; but here the police would let no one alone in the streets,
and she wanted a spot to die in, in peace. It's a queer sort of
peace we have here, but that night the room was uncommon empty, and
I'm not a hard-hearted woman (I wish I were, I could ha' made a good
thing out of it afore this if I were harder), so I sent her up--but
she's not here now, I think."
"Was she very bad?" asked Jem.
"Ay! nought but skin and bone, with a cough to tear her in two."
They made some inquiries, and found that in the restlessness of
approaching death, she had longed to be once more in the open air,
and had gone forth--where, no one seemed to be able to tell.
Leaving many messages for her, and directions that he was to be sent
for if either the policeman or the landlady obtained any clue to her
whereabouts, Jem bent his steps towards Mary's house; for he had not
seen her all that long day of search.
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