Entranced, he stared at the name. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. All they left it was the moon and stars. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair.
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