"My sister spends that in half an hour at
a dressmaker's in Dover Street."
"Ah, yes, but that's your sister," she had objected pathetically.
"And you?"
"But thirty pounds will really be more than enough."
It lay deep in her mind, never offering to rise to the surface, to
remind him that she was not his wife. But he would not give way. He
had said sixty pounds--sixty pounds it had to be. So he mastered her,
without effort, at every turn.
She went then with Janet to the shops--she, and her sixty pounds,
gripped tight in brittle ten-pound notes in her purse. At that time
she was still staying on at Kew, still attending her office in King
Street; but at both places she had given notice to leave, and in a
week's time would be free.
Her first intimation to Janet of all that had occurred and all that
was to follow, was made, as usual, one night, when the darkness hid
her face, and she could only tell by the sound of Janet's breathing
what effect her story might have.
When she had finished, Janet made use of that remark--justified in
her case--which every prophet, false or true, utters at one time or
another--
"Didn't I tell you so?"
But then she went on, and they had talked far into the night; and
at every moment, when doubt or regret seized and shook Sally with
a quivering remorse, Janet laughed at her fears.
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