A pulse throbbed beneath her fingers, thready but present.

‘Sissy is not a name,’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Don’t call yourself Sissy. Call yourself Cecilia.’ ‘It’s father as calls me Sissy, sir,’ returned the young girl in a trembling voice, and with another curtsey.

The puppy seized the opportunity and tried to stage a combined entry. Kochu Maria hit the floor fiercely with her hands and said, Hup, Hup! Poda patti! So the puppy, wisely, desisted. It appeared to be familiar with this routine.

Statues of condottieri stood in their airless niches, darkness flaring in their eye sockets and nostrils.