I saw a dark shadow of anger pass over Sinfi's face, and I soon
understood what was causing it. The daughter of the well-to-do Panuel
Lovell and my guest was accosting a tourist with, 'Let me tell you
your fortune, my pretty gentleman. Give the poor Gypsy a sixpence for
luck, my gentleman.'
The bungalow delighted Sinfi. 'It's just like a great livin'-waggin,
only more comfortable,' said she.
We spent the entire morning and afternoon there, and much of the next
two days. It certainly seemed to me that her mere presence was an
immense stimulus to memory in vitalising its one image.
'What's the use o' us a-keepin' a-talkin' about Winnie?' Sinfi said
to me one day. 'It on'y makes you fret. You skears me sometimes; for
your eyes are a-gettin' jis' as sad-lookin' as Mr. D'Arcy's eyes, an'
it's all along o' fret-tin'.'
I persuaded her to stay with me while Panuel and Videy went on to
Chester, for she could both soothe and amuse me.
III
Those who might suppose that Sinfi Lovell's lack of education would
be a barrier against our sympathy, know little or nothing of real
sorrow--little or nothing of the human heart--little or nothing of
the stricken soul that looks out on man and his conventions through
the light of an intolerable pain.
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