C. Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. ‘Do you at least know how he came to be in a position to cheat Miss Charvill, and to pass off his wife in her place?’ ‘In her place?’ There was no mistaking the boy’s ignorance of this part of the tale. I am a thing to be used. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness.
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