With such a look and such a smile my mother's face shone out of the mass of her golden hair the day she died.

For this I bought the picture; for this I keep it still.
But to go back.
I liked Mrs.Bundle.I had taken to her from the evening when she arrived in a red shawl, with several bandboxes.

My affection for her was established next day, when she washed my face before dinner.

My own nurse was bony, her hands were all knuckles, and she washed my face as she scrubbed the nursery floor on Saturdays.

Mrs.Bundle's plump palms were like pincushions, and she washed my face as if it had been a baby's.
On the evening of the day when I first saw Sister Alice, I took tea in the housekeeper's room.