"She was beautiful, Mrs. Todgers," he said, turning his glazed eye again upon her, without the least preliminary notice. "She had a small property."
"So I have heard," said Mrs. Todgers with great sympathy.
"Those are her daughters," said Mr. Pecksniff, pointing out the young ladies, with increased emotion.
Mrs. Todgers had no doubt about it.
"Mercy and Charity," said Mr. Pecksniff, "Charity and Mercy. Not unholy names, I hope?"
"Mr. Pecksniff!" cried Mrs. Todgers. "What a ghastly smile! Are you ill, sir?"
He pressed his hand upon her arm, and answered in a solemn manner, and a faint voice, "Chronic."
"Chronic?" cried the frightened Mrs. Todgers.
"Chron-ic," he repeated with some difficulty. "Chronic. A chronic disorder. I have been its victim from childhood. It is carrying me to my grave."
"Heaven forbid!" cried Mrs. Todgers.