Whitechapel and Koluwai “I’m ruined! If I don’t pay the money, the Tanners will destroy my good name!” We were in my sitting room, Clarissa Stark in an armchair by the fireplace, while I anxiously paced up and down. “Inform the police,” my friend advised. “You’ve been a respected member of this community your entire life. Your word will be believed over that of these newcomers.” “Maybe so, but they’ll still be here to spread their vicious lies. They’ll still disrupt my Sunday services. I’ll still—I’ll still have to look upon Alice!” Overcome by the awfulness of my position, I suddenly ran from the room and up to my bedchamber, where I threw myself down and wept, piteous fool that I was. I didn’t emerge for two days. Miss Stark left trays of food outside the door, but I had no appetite, and by the time I descended the stairs on Thursday morning, I felt physically and emotionally hollow, and thoroughly exhausted.
