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“Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. "I don't know," she answered vaguely. Maggot. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. . Small blame to her.
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