Briggs too well heard the creaking Firkin descend the stairs, and the clink of the spoon and gruel-basin the neglected female carried.
"Well, Firkin ?" says she, as the other entered the apartment.

"Well, Jane ?" "Wuss and wuss, Miss B.," Firkin said, wagging her head.
"Is she not better then ?" "She never spoke but once, and I asked her if she felt a little more easy, and she told me to hold my stupid tongue.

Oh, Miss B., I never thought to have seen this day!" And the water-works again began to play.
"What sort of a person is this Miss Sharp, Firkin?
I little thought, while enjoying my Christmas revels in the elegant home of my firm friends, the Reverend Lionel Delamere and his amiable lady, to find a stranger had taken my place in the affections of my dearest, my still dearest Matilda!" Miss Briggs, it will be seen by her language, was of a literary and sentimental turn, and had once published a volume of poems--"Trills of the Nightingale"-- by subscription.
"Miss B., they are all infatyated about that young woman," Firkin replied.

"Sir Pitt wouldn't have let her go, but he daredn't refuse Miss Crawley anything.

Mrs.Bute at the Rectory jist as bad--never happy out of her sight.