'Come, come!' returned the Carrier, clapping his sounding hands.
'Where's the pipe?'
'I quite forgot the pipe, John.'
Forgot the pipe! Was such a wonder ever heard of! She! Forgot
the pipe!
'I'll--I'll fill it directly. It's soon done.'
But it was not so soon done, either. It lay in the usual place--
the Carrier's dreadnought pocket--with the little pouch, her own
work, from which she was used to fill it, but her hand shook so,
that she entangled it (and yet her hand was small enough to have
come out easily, I am sure), and bungled terribly. The filling of
the pipe and lighting it, those little offices in which I have
commended her discretion, were vilely done, from first to last.
During the whole process, Tackleton stood looking on maliciously
with the half-closed eye; which, whenever it met hers--or caught
it, for it can hardly be said to have ever met another eye: rather
being a kind of trap to snatch it up--augmented her confusion in a
most remarkable degree.
'Why, what a clumsy Dot you are, this afternoon!' said John.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98