"You think as I'd help him, maybe. Not a bit o' me! I
don't harbor no guilty parties, Cinderella, as I ha' told yer heaps and
heaps o' times. No, he's guilty, and he goes ter prison; there ain't
nothink hard in sending him ter prison."
"It ha' seemed ter me often lately, Pickles, as it must be harder to lie
in prison guilty than not guilty--you ha'nt, nothink ter trouble yer
mind ef yer ain't guilty."
"Well then, I s'pose, in that case, as yer'll give yerself hup."
"I'd a deal rayther be in hiding with yer, Pickles; but I don't feel as
ef I _could_ put Mr. Harris in prison."
"Then you must go yerself, fur this thing can't go on fur ever."
Sue looked frightened, and her commonplace gray eyes fell to the ground.
She took up the poker and began to trace a pattern on the floor: it was
as intricate as her own fate just now. She was a little heroine,
however, and her noble thoughts redeemed all plainness from her face
when at last she spoke:
"Once, Pickles, arter mother died we was brought down wery low. I had a
dreadful influenzy, and I couldn't nohow go to the machining, and we
were near starving. Mr. Harris lent me a shilling that time, and we
pulled through. Another time I couldn't meet the rent, and Connie, she
begged of her father, and he give me the money; and when I offerd it him
back again he wouldn't take it.
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