Explore "Paul Quentin" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Mary Pearson was genuinely distressed. She sat in her chair looking from Passmore to Dugdale as if relying upon them, as if she had no resources of her own to go on.
"Oh, my unfortunate house!" she exclaimed. "What have I done to be worried and bothered in this fashion? Of late I have had nothing but unhappiness and misery, and I am sure it is no fault of mine. I shall never feel easy as long as the place remains unprotected."