She broke her bread with those very hands; spoke to her husband with that very voice, and rose from table with that same graceful management of her limp skirts.

She made eyes at me; at her husband; at little Fox, at the man who handed the asparagus--great round grey eyes.

She was just the same.

The curtain never fell on that eternal dress rehearsal.

I don't wonder the husband was forever looking at his watch.
Mr.Fox was a friend of the house.