In Seasons Of Pestilence, Some Of Us

The Weathercocks On Spires And Housetops Were Mysterious With Hints Of Stormy Wind, And Pointed, Like So Many Ghostly Fingers, Out To Dangerous Seas, Where Fragments Of Great Wrecks Were Drifting, Perhaps, And Helpless Men Were Rocked Upon Them Into A Sleep As Deep As The Unfathomable Waters.

I Could Settle Down Into A State Of Equable Low Spirits, And Resign Myself To Coffee.

It Is Because I Think So Much Of Warm And Sensitive Hearts, That I Would Spare Them From Being Wounded.

One Disagreeable Result Of Whispering Is That It Seems To Evoke An Atmosphere Of Silence, Haunted By The Ghosts Of Sound - Strange Cracks And Tickings, The Rustling Of Garments That Have No Substance In Them, And The Tread Of Dreadful Feet That Would Leave No Mark On The Sea-sand Or The Winter Snow.

Mrs. Boffin, Insisting That Bella Should Make Tomorrow's Expedition In The Chariot, She Went Home In Great Grandeur. Mrs. Wilfer And Miss Lavinia Had Speculated Much On The Probabilities And Improbabilities Of Her Coming In This Gorgeous State, And, On Beholding The Chariot From The Window At Which They Were Secreted To Look Out For It, Agreed That It Must Be Detained At The Door As Long As Possible, For The Mortification And Confusion Of The Neighbours.