But duty to one's self, if overpushed in such a case, would hold some taint of cowardice.

So I threw the letter, with a sense of loathing, on a chair.

Whatever it might contain, it should pass, at least for me, inviolate.
Now when Mrs.Busk came to see what I had done, or rather left undone, she flew into a towering passion, until she had no time to go on with it.

The rattle of the rickety old mail-cart, on its way to Winchester that night, was heard, and the horn of the driver as he passed the church.
"Give it me.

'A mercy! A young natural, that you are!" the good woman cried, as she flung out of the room to dash her office stamp upon that hateful missive, and to seal the leathern bag.