She recognized the face but could not quite place it. “Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. With a small saw, conveyed to me a few days since by Thames Darrell, which I contrived to conceal upon my person, I removed a spike in the hatch, and, with the aid of some other friends, worked my way out. You want industry—you want steadiness. Only promise me this.
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