“She’s dead!” announced Mrs. Mann, the midwife. “What a nuisance. I’ll have to get Mr. Bumble.”
Mr. Bumble was in charge of the workhouse – a cold, grim place for the homeless without a spark of comfort or a crumb of nourishing food. He didn’t care if the inmates starved, as long as his own tummy felt warm and full three times a day.
Quickly, Mrs. Mann unclasped a gold locket from the dead woman’s neck and put it around her own. Opening it, she read the name “Agnes” engraved inside.