She had large hazel eyes, that gleamed with a singular lustre out of the suffering, grimed and wasted little face, so pale and sad and pitiful that the sight of it was enough to draw tears from any but the brutal and hardened.
"Are you sick ?" asked Norah.
"No, she's not sick; she's only shamming," growled Flanagan.
"You shut up!" retorted Norah.

"I wasn't speaking to you." Then she repeated her question: "Are you sick, Nell ?" "Yes." "Where ?" "I don't know." Norah laid her hand on the child's head: "Does it hurt here ?" "Oh yes! It hurts so I can't see good," answered Nell.
"It's all a lie! I know her; she's shamming." "Oh no, Norah!" cried the child, a sudden hope blending with the fear in her voice.

"I ain't shamming at all.

I fell down ever so many times in the street, and 'most got run over.

Oh dear! oh dear!" and she clung to the woman with a gesture of despair piteous to see.
"I don't believe you are, Nell," said Norah, kindly.