AC dBooks

This was Mrs. Oliver, and it occurred to me even at that first sight
that she had the frightened and evasive look of a wife who lives under
the intimidation of a tyrannical husband.
She welcomed me, however, with a warmth that partly dispelled my
depression and I followed her into the kitchen.
It was the only room on the ground floor of her house (except a
scullery) and it seemed sweet and clean and comfortable, having a table
in the middle of the floor, a sofa under the window, a rocking-chair on
one side of the fireplace, a swinging baby's cot on the other side, and
nothing about it that was not homelike and reassuring, except two large
photographs over the mantelpiece of men stripped to the waist and
sparring.
"We've been looking for you all day, ma'am, and had nearly give you up,"
she said.
Then she took baby out of my arms, removed her bonnet and pelisse,
lifted her barrow-coat to examine her limbs, asked her age, kissed her
on the arms, the neck and the legs, and praised her without measure.


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