Wood. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. " "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. She had to wait some minutes in an outer office, wherein three young men of spirited costume and appearance regarded her with ill-concealed curiosity and admiration. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence. She’s got a great imagination.
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