She wore the sleeves of her bodice rolled up to the elbows, and her wrists and forearms were bleached by her morning's work at the wash-tub.
"Then I'm sure I don't know what else you are!" said she, looking at him straight.
Mr.Simeon sighed.

Ever on Mondays he returned at midday to a house filled with steam and the dank odour of soap-suds, and to the worst of the week's meagre meals.

A hundred times he had reproached himself that he did ungratefully to let this affect him, for his wife (poor soul) had been living in it all day, whereas his morning had been spent amid books, rare prints, statuettes, soft carpets, all the delicate luxuries of Master Blanchminster's library.

Yet he could not help feeling the contrast; and the children were always at their most fractious on Mondays, chafed by a morning in school after two days of freedom.
"Where are you going this afternoon ?" his wife asked.
"To blow the organ for Windeatt." Dr.Windeatt (Mus.Doc.

Oxon.) was the Cathedral organist.
"Has he offered to pay you ?" "Well--it isn't _pay_ exactly.