There was a light burning in a little shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and I wondered who had took up quarters there.

I slipped up and peeped in at the window.

There was a woman about forty year old in there knitting by a candle that was on a pine table.

I didn't know her face; she was a stranger, for you couldn't start a face in that town that I didn't know.

Now this was lucky, because I was weakening; I was getting afraid I had come; people might know my voice and find me out.