This person's real name had almost disappeared from the memory of man, for he had been nicknamed "Woodlouse" among his acquaintance.

Mr.Woodlouse passed his time in a dingy den in the magistrate's office, where he either slept or occupied himself in sorting documents and papers.

But there he had grown to be almost a necessity, for he had the special gift of knowing the contents of every paper, and the name of every single person who for years had sought information at the office.

He could stand in the middle of the room and point to the different shelves, and say, apparently without effort, what each contained, and what was missing.

He had thus gone down as a kind of living inventory from magistrate to magistrate, and as his special knowledge increased he endeavoured to get his salary raised, so that he might give himself up recklessly to his two ruling passions, which were drinking beer and reading novels at night.
As Marianne went through the room she moved her grandfather's chair close to the kitchen door, and gave him a meaning look.