Peckover's. So powerfully was her imagination
affected that she had a feeling as if her hands were grimy from
toil, as if her limbs ached. Oh, that dreadful voice! Was she never,
never to escape beyond hearing of it?
'Jane, my dear, come into the sitting-room,' said Bessie 'No wonder
it's upset you. What _can_ it all mean?'
The meaning was not far to seek; Jane understood everything--yes,
even her father's hypocrisies. She listened for a few minutes to her
friend's indignant exclamations, then looked up, her resolve taken.
'Mrs. Byass, I shall take no more money. I shall go to work again
and earn my living. How thankful I am that I can!'
'Why, what nonsense are you talking, child! Just because that--
that _creature_--Why, I've no patience with you, Jane! As if she
durst touch you! Touch you? I'd like to see her indeed.'
'It isn't that, Mrs. Byass. I can't take money from father. I
haven't felt easy in my mind ever since he told me about it, and now
I _can't_ take the money. Whether it's true or not, all she said, I
should never have a night's rest if I consented to live in this
way.'
'Oh, you _don't_ really mean it, Jane?'
Bessie all but sobbed with vexation.
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