Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. Narrow little beady brown eyes, and she’s got big eyebrows like dead caterpillars. “Something. From what do you wish to be rescued?’ The girl fluttered her eyelashes, sighed dramatically and spread her hands. He knew she had been weeping.
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