The woman seemed
somehow to have a spite against me from the first, and the way her
husband behaved to me made her hate me still more. Child as I was,
he did and said things which made her jealous. Often when she had
gone out of an evening, I had to defend myself against him, and call
the daughter to protect me. And so it went on, till, what with fear
of him, and fear of her, and misery and weariness, I resolved to go
away, become of me what might. One night, instead of undressing for
bed as usual, I told Jane--that was the daughter--that I
couldn't bear it any longer, and was going away, as soon as I
thought the house was quiet. She looked at me in astonishment, and
asked me if I had anywhere to go to. Will you believe that I said
yes, I had? I suppose I spoke in a way which didn't encourage her to
ask questions; she only lay down on the bed and cried as usual.
"Jane," I said, in a little, "if I were you, I'd run away as well."
"I will," she cried out, starting up, "I will this very night! We'll
go out together." It was my turn to ask her if _she_ had anywhere to
go to. She said she knew a girl who lived in a good home at
Tottenham, and who'd do something for her, she thought.
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