And now, my dear child, I must go upstairs and pack." Catherine roused herself from her kneeling position with difficulty.

She felt cold and stiff, queer and old.
"Shall I help you, mother," she asked.
"No, my dear, I shall ring for Clara.

I shall tell Clara that I am going to Manchester.

A train to Manchester can be taken from Fleet-hill Junction, so it will all sound quite natural.

Go out to Mabel, dear.
Tell her any story you like." "I don't tell stories, mother.