Mrs.Hopper was not a resident domestic; she came at stated hours.

Obviously a widow, she had a poor, loose-hung, trailing little body, which no nourishment could plump or fortify.

Her visage was habitually doleful, but contracted itself at moments into a grin of quaint drollery, which betrayed her for something of a humorist.
"My fingers is all gone silly to-day, sir," she pursued.

"I daresay it's because I haven't had much sleep these last few nights." "How's that ?" "It's my poor sister, sir--my sister Liza, I mean--she's had one of her worst headaches--the extra special, we call 'em.

This time it's lasted more than three days, and not one minute of rest has the poor thing got." Warburton was all sympathy; he inquired about the case as though it were that of an intimate friend.