Explore "On the Brink of a Chasm" by L.T. Meade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
On the night that Clara Tarbot faced the awful fact that she was not long for this world, that consumption had claimed her for its prey, and when she had also discovered that her great secret was in jeopardy, and that at any moment her husband's plans would be brought to utter ruin, Mrs. Ives was also restless and uneasy. Mrs. Ives did not like sleeping in Luke Tarbot's house.
"It don't suit me," said the little woman to herself, "a bed like this. I want my feather bed. I don't like these sort of springs under me-shaky and unnatural, and mighty like earthquakes they seems to me. And I don't like carpets all over the floor, unwholesome they is, they don't let enough air in, and you can't clean 'em often enough, and I hates heavy curtains to the winders.