You can
open it." She added to Dart in an
undertone: "She 'as to keep it locked.
No knowin' who'd want to get in.
Polly," shaking the door-handle again,
"Polly 's only me."
The door opened slowly. On the
other side of it stood a girl with a
dimpled round face which was quite
pale; under one of her childishly
vacant blue eyes was a discoloration,
and her curly fair hair was tucked up
on the top of her head in a knot.
As she took in the fact of Antony
Dart's presence her chin began to
quiver.
"I ain't fit to--to see no one,"
she stammered pitifully. "Why did
you, Glad--why did you?"
"Ain't no 'arm in 'IM," said Glad.
" 'E's one o' the friendly ones. 'E
give me a suvrink. Look wot I've
got," hopping about as she showed
her parcels.
"You need not be afraid of me,"
Antony Dart said. He paused a
second, staring at her, and suddenly
added, "Poor little wretch!"
Her look was so scared and uncertain
a thing that he walked away
from her and threw the sack of coal
on the hearth. A small grate with
broken bars hung loosely in the fireplace,
a battered tin kettle tilted
drunkenly near it. A mattress, from
the holes in whose ticking straw
bulged, lay on the floor in a corner,
with some old sacks thrown over it.
Glad had, without doubt, borrowed
her shoulder covering from the
collection. The garret was as cold as
the grave, and almost as dark; the
fog hung in it thickly. There were
crevices enough through which it
could penetrate.
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