of my restlessness, and
afraid to move an eye lest she should light on some look of dislike
or scrutiny that would find new cause for complaint in mine! What
intolerable dulness to sit listening to the ticking of the clock; and
watching Miss Murdstone's little shiny steel beads as she strung them;
and wondering whether she would ever be married, and if so, to what
sort of unhappy man; and counting the divisions in the moulding of the
chimney-piece; and wandering away, with my eyes, to the ceiling, among
the curls and corkscrews in the paper on the wall!

What walks I took alone, down muddy lanes, in the bad winter weather,
carrying that parlour, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone in it, everywhere: a
monstrous load that I was obliged to bear, a daymare that there was
no possibility of breaking in, a weight that brooded on my wits, and
blunted them!

What meals I had in silence and embarrassment, always feeling that there
were a knife and fork too many, and that mine; an appetite too many, and
that mine; a plate and chair too many, and those mine; a somebody too
many, and that I!

What evenings, when the candles came, and I was expected to employ
myself, but, not daring to read an entertaining book, pored over some
hard-headed, harder-hearted treatise on arithmetic; when the tables of
weights and measures set themselves to tunes, as 'Rule Britannia', or
'Away with Melancholy'; when they wouldn't stand still to be learnt, but
would go threading my grandmother's needle through my unfortunate head,
in at one ear and out at the other! What yawns and dozes I lapsed into,
in spite of all my care; what starts I came out of concealed sleeps
with; what answers I never got, to little observations that I rarely
made; what a blank space I seemed, which everybody overlooked, and
yet was in everybody's way; what a heavy relief it was to hear Miss
Murdstone hail the first stroke of nine at night, and order me to bed!

Thus the holidays lagged away, until the morning came when Miss
Murdstone said: 'Here's the last day off!' and gave me the closing cup
of tea of the vacation.

I was not sorry to go. I had lapsed into a stupid state; but I was
recovering a little and looking forward to Steerforth, albeit Mr.
Creakle loomed behind him. Again Mr. Barkis appeared at the gate, and
again Miss Murdstone in her warning voice, said: 'Clara!' when my mother
bent over me, to bid me farewell.

I kissed her, and my baby brother, and was very sorry the