He was the only protector she had.

It was as though Flora had been fated to be always surrounded by treachery and lies stifling every better impulse, every instinctive aspiration of her soul to trust and to love.

It would have been enough to drive a fine nature into the madness of universal suspicion--into any sort of madness.

I don't know how far a sense of humour will stand by one.

To the foot of the gallows, perhaps.