1 And yet this old woman would NEVER be quiet.
2 There was no mute sign of a woman in the room.
3 He certainly never had seen this old woman before.
4 The strange old woman was delighted with the very bell.
5 It was not a face in its first bloom; she was a woman five and thirty years of age.
6 Then the curtain moved more perceptibly, and the woman in the bed put it back, and sat up.
7 On his telling her where he worked, the old woman became a more singular old woman than before.
8 As he recoiled, looking down at it, it raised itself up into the form of a woman in a sitting attitude.
9 She was a child now, of fifteen or sixteen; but at no distant day would seem to become a woman all at once.
10 Yet there was a vague remembrance in his mind, as if he had more than once dreamed of some old woman like her.
11 It was an old woman, tall and shapely still, though withered by time, on whom his eyes fell when he stopped and turned.
12 Then I became a young vagabond; and instead of one old woman knocking me about and starving me, everybody of all ages knocked me about and starved me.
13 He knew that there was trouble enough in the world; and if the old woman had lived so long, and could count upon his having so little, why so much the better for her, and none the worse for him.
14 He thought of the waste of the best part of his life, of the change it made in his character for the worse every day, of the dreadful nature of his existence, bound hand and foot, to a dead woman, and tormented by a demon in her shape.
15 It seemed as if, first in her own fire within the house, and then in the fiery haze without, she tried to discover what kind of woof Old Time, that greatest and longest-established Spinner of all, would weave from the threads he had already spun into a woman.
16 He had been at his loom full half an hour, thinking about this old woman, when, having occasion to move round the loom for its adjustment, he glanced through a window which was in his corner, and saw her still looking up at the pile of building, lost in admiration.
17 The flutter of her manner, in the unwonted noise of the streets; the spare shawl, carried unfolded on her arm; the heavy umbrella, and little basket; the loose long-fingered gloves, to which her hands were unused; all bespoke an old woman from the country, in her plain holiday clothes, come into Coketown on an expedition of rare occurrence.
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