I couldn't do that.

Oh, she's a dreadful trial, Mrs.Deo; you have a motherly face, and I can tell you that the girl is just eating up my life.

If she weren't my very self, deafened by hard usage, and rendered coarse and wilful by years of a miserable and half-starved life, I couldn't bear it, especially after what I've sacrificed for her.

I've parted with my husband--but I can't talk, I can't.

I would not have said so much if you hadn't looked so kind." All this her husband heard, followed by a sob or two, quickly checked, however, by a high strained laugh and the gay remark: "I'm wet enough, but she'll be dripping.