" "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. “Perhaps your engagements are made for you. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets.
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