In laughing, she became a model for an artist, an embodiment of fierce life independent of morality.

Her health was probably less sound than it seemed to be; one would have compared her, not to some piece of exuberant normal vegetation, but rather to a rank, evilly-fostered growth.

The putrid soil of that nether world yields other forms besides the obviously blighted and sapless.
'Have you done any work for Mrs.Hewett to-day ?' she asked of her victim, after sufficiently savouring the spectacle of terror.
'Yes, miss; I did the front-room fireplace, an' fetched fourteen of coals, an' washed out a few things.' 'What did she give you ?' 'A penny, miss.

I gave it to Mrs.Peckover before she went.' 'Oh, you did?
Well, look 'ere; you'll just remember in future that all you get from the lodgers belongs to me, an' not to mother.

It's a new arrangement, understand.