" "If only…. M. His literary instincts began to stir. What a pig she was. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat.
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