The place was kept by a man and wife; they had a daughter older than I, and they treated her just like a hired servant.
I used to sleep with the girl in a wretched kitchen underground, and the poor thing kept me awake every night with crying and complaining of her hard life.

It was no harder than mine, and I can't think she felt it more; but I had even then a kind of stubborn pride which kept me from showing what I suffered.

I couldn't have borne to let them see what a terrible change it was for me, all this drudgery and unkindness; I felt it would have been like taking them into my confidence, opening my heart to them, and I despised them too much for that.

I even tried to talk in a rough rude way, as if I had never been used to anything better--" "That was fine, that was heroic!" broke in Waymark admiringly.
"I only know it was miserable enough.

And things got worse instead of better.