"What is it that brings you everlastingly to this miserable place ?" "Something draws me to it," says the girl, making images with her finger in the sand.

"I try to keep away from it, and I can't.

Sometimes," says she in a low voice, as if she was frightened at her own fancy, "sometimes, Mr.Betteredge, I think that my grave is waiting for me here." "There's roast mutton and suet-pudding waiting for you!" says I."Go in to dinner directly.

This is what comes, Rosanna, of thinking on an empty stomach!" I spoke severely, being naturally indignant (at my time of life) to hear a young woman of five-and-twenty talking about her latter end! She didn't seem to hear me: she put her hand on my shoulder, and kept me where I was, sitting by her side.
"I think the place has laid a spell on me," she said.

"I dream of it night after night; I think of it when I sit stitching at my work.