She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. His blood would be sweet with it. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken. Thus, in a few minutes, had this happy family been plunged into the depths of misery. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting.
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