Stanley, “I am anxious. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. "Thank you," she said, and left the office. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor.
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