Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. Of course there were goats. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. He reached for her, and she struck savagely.
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