But, next to the chapel itself, a scent of carrion makes you start. You
look, against the will of your smart and ostentatious guide, through a
half-open door, and see another sight--a room, dark and foul, mildewed
and ruinous; and, swept carelessly into a corner, a heap of dirt, rags,
bones, waifs and strays of every kind, decaying all together.
You ask, with astonishment and disgust, how comes that there? and are
told, to your fresh astonishment and disgust, that that is only where the
servants sweep the litter. But crouching behind the litter, in the
darkest corner, something moves. You go up to it, in spite of the
entreaties of your guide, and find an aged idiot gibbering in her rags.
Who is she? Oh, an old servant--or a child, or possibly a grand-child,
of some old servant--your guide does not remember which. She is better
out of the way there in the corner. At all events she can find plenty to
eat among the dirt-heap; and as for her soul, if she has one, the
clergyman is said to come and see her now and then, so probably it will
be saved.
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