'Those times, however,' pursued Mr Casby, 'are past and gone, past and gone.
I do myself the pleasure of making a visit to your respected mother occasionally, and of admiring the fortitude and strength of mind with which she bears her trials, bears her trials.' When he made one of these little repetitions, sitting with his hands crossed before him, he did it with his head on one side, and a gentle smile, as if he had something in his thoughts too sweetly profound to be put into words.

As if he denied himself the pleasure of uttering it, lest he should soar too high; and his meekness therefore preferred to be unmeaning.
'I have heard that you were kind enough on one of those occasions,' said Arthur, catching at the opportunity as it drifted past him, 'to mention Little Dorrit to my mother.' 'Little--Dorrit?
That's the seamstress who was mentioned to me by a small tenant of mine?
Yes, yes.

Dorrit?
That's the name.

Ah, yes, yes! You call her Little Dorrit ?' No road in that direction.

Nothing came of the cross-cut.