When she fights for herself she seems like a dog before a looking-glass, gone into a mad fury with its own shadow." "And YOU are the looking-glass ?" she asked, with a curl of the lip.
"Or the shadow," he replied.
"I am afraid," she said, "that you are too clever." "Well, I leave it to you to be GOOD," he retorted, laughing.

"Be good, sweet maid, and just let ME be clever." But Clara wearied of his flippancy.

Suddenly, looking at her, he saw that the upward lifting of her face was misery and not scorn.

His heart grew tender for everybody.

He turned and was gentle with Miriam, whom he had neglected till then.
At the wood's edge they met Limb, a thin, swarthy man of forty, tenant of Strelley Mill, which he ran as a cattle-raising farm.