Jackson’s. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. ” She turned away. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. ’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley. .
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