Her clack was going all day, and you would think something would surely happen to her works, by and by; but no, they never got out of order; and she never had to slack up for words.

She could grind, and pump, and churn, and buzz by the week, and never stop to oil up or blow out.

And yet the result was just nothing but wind.

She never had any ideas, any more than a fog has.

She was a perfect blatherskite; I mean for jaw, jaw, jaw, talk, talk, talk, jabber, jabber, jabber; but just as good as she could be.