‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. There was a little pain, but it wasn’t anything. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little.
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