“I think I should like to go home.”

“And never see her again, though she is so pretty?”

“I am not sure that I shouldn't like to see her again, but I should like to go home now.”

“You shall go soon,” said Miss Havisham, aloud.

“Play the game out.”

Saving for the one weird smile at first, I should have felt almost sure that Miss Havisham's face could not smile. It had dropped into a watchful and brooding expression, — most likely when all the things about her had become transfixed, — and it looked as if nothing could ever lift it up again. Her chest had dropped, so that she stooped; and her voice had dropped, so