So she brought upon the stage the Reverend Henry Dolby, a preacher of means, worldly-wise and kindly, cheery and rotund, who, with his wife and daughter, had arrived at the Victoria that morning. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her.
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