Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. "Now stand before me, Poll. ‘You do not say, “I am a gentleman born. ” She nodded. A shiver slid down inside her. “I can say no more. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. —There, Mr. One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow.
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