Mary came to see me nearly every day.

I could see she was getting poorer and poorer, and when at last I was discharged, the little rooms she took me to were about as poor as they could be to be respectable.
"I'd hardly been back a week, when one day after going out to try to sell some of my sketches, she came home ill and died quite suddenly.

I was all up a tree then--no money, no friends, no legs.

I wrote to Frampton, but he can't have got my letter.

Then I got threatened with eviction, and all but left out in the street, when the person old Mary had sold my sketches to called round and ordered some more.