"To think that it was I as let you that very shop two years last Christmas, and that pore Mr. Cusings, as was sweet on you then--I've not seen 'im lately--and now the coppers are under my very roof! It seems a judgment on us, it really does. But I always told Wattles that if he went on treatin' of 'is wedded wife more like a 'eathen than a Christian woman, as a judgment would come on 'im, an' now my words is proved." She seemed by now quite oblivious of my presence: a quivering shapeless mass of gin-drenched humanity she collapsed on to the doorstep. And with this for my last sight and recollection of the place which had witnessed so much enthusiasm, so many generous hopes and aspirations, and where so many illusions lay buried, I walked forth into the London street a sadder if a wiser woman. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's A Girl Among the Anarchists, by Isabel Meredith