Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. (“Good job. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees.
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