I have also to acknowledge that we were very dull.
As for Reverend Finch, he talked his way through his share of the troubles that were trying us now, at the full compass of his voice.
If you had heard the little priest in those days, you would have supposed that nobody could feel our domestic misfortunes as _he_ felt them, and grieve over them as _he_ grieved.

He was a sight to see, on the day of the medical consultation; strutting up and down his wife's sitting-room, and haranguing his audience--composed of his wife and myself.

Mrs.Finch sat in one corner, with the baby and the novel, and the petticoat and the shawl.

I occupied the other corner; summoned to "consult with the rector." In plain words, summoned to hear Mr.Finch declare that he was the person principally overshadowed by the cloud which hung on the household.
"I despair, Madame Pratolungo--I assure you, I despair--of conveying any idea of how _I_ feel under this most melancholy state of things.

You have been very good; you have shown the sympathy of a true friend.