When William was twenty-four and Emma was twenty-three, they were married and took over a greengrocery in Stratford.

Laura listened, dumbfounded, as Christabel recounted her close shave inside the house. “Tell me you’re making this up,” she begged. / “It’s all true, Lol,” said Christabel.

[…] he was presently undrest, all to his shirt, the fore-lappet of which, as he lean’d languishingly on me, he smilingly pointed to me, to observe, as it bellied out, or rose, and fell, according to the unruly starts of the motion behind it:

[…] even the carpenters who made her over for the service had not thought her worth the trouble, and had done their worst by her. The new partitions were hung to the joists by a few nails.