I must have read very perspicuously, or the poor soul must have been deeply interested, for I remember she had a cloudy impression, after I had done, that they were a sort of vegetable.

I was tired of reading, and dead sleepy; but having leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home from spending the evening at a neighbour's, I would rather have died upon my post (of course) than have gone to bed.

I had reached that stage of sleepiness when Peggotty seemed to swell and grow immensely large.
I propped my eyelids open with my two forefingers, and looked perseveringly at her as she sat at work; at the little bit of wax-candle she kept for her thread--how old it looked, being so wrinkled in all directions!--at the little house with a thatched roof, where the yard-measure lived; at her work-box with a sliding lid, with a view of St.Paul's Cathedral (with a pink dome) painted on the top; at the brass thimble on her finger; at herself, whom I thought lovely.

I felt so sleepy, that I knew if I lost sight of anything for a moment, I was gone.
'Peggotty,' says I, suddenly, 'were you ever married ?' 'Lord, Master Davy,' replied Peggotty.

'What's put marriage in your head ?' She answered with such a start, that it quite awoke me.