She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. "Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. When he begins to notice things, I want you to trap his interest, to amuse him, keep his thoughts from reverting to his misfortunes. . —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. Ah Cum before the day was over, slyly baiting him. "Here's a cross-bite. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence.
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