As she lurched (for she rolled like a ship at sea) and leered (for her eyesfell on nothing directly, but with a sidelong glance that deprecated thescorn and anger of the world—she was witless, she knew it), as sheclutched the banisters and hauled herself upstairs and rolled from roomto room, she sang. Rubbing the glass of the long looking-glass and leeringsideways at her swinging figure a sound issued from herlips—something that had been gay twenty years before on the stage perhaps,had been hummed and danced to, but now, coming from thetoothless, bonneted, care-taking woman, was robbed of meaning, waslike the voice of witlessness, humour, persistency itself, trodden downbut springing up again, so that as she lurched, dusting, wiping, sheseemed to say how it was one long sorrow and trouble, how it was gettingup and going to bed again, and bringing things out and puttingthem away again. It was not easy or snug this world she had known forclose on seventy years. Bowed down she was with weariness. How long,she asked, creaking and groaning on her knees under the bed, dustingthe boards, how long shall it endure? but hobbled to her feet again,pul............