“Hannah, what do you mean?”
“Mean? I don’t want that woman coming fussing round the place, making up to you, dressing you up—I know what it means. Don’t you talk to me. Get along, Dumps, or I’ll say something angry. Now then, out you go!”
Hannah pushed the cotton-wool well into her ear with her thumb, and after that I knew that I might as well talk to a deaf and dumb image.
Part 1, Chapter X.
A Very Queer Chum.
I went to tea with Augusta Moore. She was full of raptures with regard to the tickets which I had brought her. She turned in the street and kissed me quite demonstratively; but the next moment she lapsed into one of her brown studies.
“Do look out,” I said; “you will be run over.”
“As if that mattered,” said Augusta.