I misdealt, as was only natural, when I knew she was lying in wait for me to do wrong; and she denounced me for a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy.
"You say nothing of her," remarked Miss Havisham to me, as she looked on.

"She says many hard things of you, but you say nothing of her.

What do you think of her ?" "I don't like to say," I stammered.
"Tell me in my ear," said Miss Havisham, bending down.
"I think she is very proud," I replied, in a whisper.
"Anything else ?" "I think she is very pretty." "Anything else ?" "I think she is very insulting." (She was looking at me then with a look of supreme aversion.) "Anything else ?" "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.