It was that troubling me when I saw you the other day.

And ever since yesterday midday, when Mr.Hilary came--he's been talking that wild--and he pushed me--and--and---" Her lips ceased to form articulate words, but, since it was not etiquette to cry before her superiors, she used them to swallow down her tears, and something in her lean throat moved up and down.
At the mention of Hilary's name the pleasurable sensation in Cecilia had undergone a change.

She felt curiosity, fear, offence.
"I don't quite understand you," she said.
The seamstress plaited at her frock.

"Of course, I can't help the way he talks, m'm.

I'm sure I don't like to repeat the wicked things he says about Mr.Hilary.It seems as if he were out of his mind when he gets talkin' about that young girl." The tone of those last three words was almost fierce.
Cecilia was on the point of saying: 'That will do, please; I want to hear no more.' But her curiosity and queer subtle fear forced her instead to repeat: "I don't understand.