She's very bad; they're afraid she's--'
The word was choked. Amy had been crying, and the tears again rose
to her eyes.
'I was just coming,' Sidney answered, as he took her hand and
pressed it kindly.
They crossed Wilmington Square and descended by the streets that
slope to Coldbath Fields Prison. The cellar in which John Hewett and
his family were housed was underneath a milk. shop; Amy led the way
down stone steps from the pavement of the street into an area, where
more than two people would have had difficulty in standing together.
Sidney saw that the window which looked upon this space was draped
with a sheet. By an open door they entered a passage, then came to
the door of the room. Amy pushed it open, and showed that a lamp
gave light within.
To poor homes Sidney Kirkwood was no stranger, but a poorer than
this now disclosed to him he had never seen. The first view of it
made him draw in his breath, as though a pang went through him.
Hewett was not here. The two younger children were sitting upon a
mattress, eating bread. Amy stepped up to the bedside and bent to
examine her mother's face.
'I think she's asleep,' she whispered, turning round to Sidney.
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