Explore "On the Brink of a Chasm" by L.T. Meade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Clara took her mother to her bedroom. A bright fire glowed in the grate, the bed was turned down, and everything looked soft, luxurious, and the very height of luxury.
"A deary me! " said the old woman again-she dropped two curtseys-one to the bed and another to the fire. "I never held with grandeur. It's all very well for them as was born to it, but folks like you and me, Clary, we ain't meant to have it, and it don't agree with us. Why, you're the color of a duck's egg in complexion now, and your freckles seem to have spread."