Crich can’t see you. He can’t see you at this hour. Do you think he is your property, that you can come whenever you like? You must go away, there is nothing for you here.’

The poor people rose in confusion. But Mr Crich, pale and black-bearded and deprecating, came behind her, saying:

‘Yes, I don’t like you coming as late as this. I’ll hear any of you in the morning part of the day, but I can’t really do with you after. What’s amiss then, Gittens. How is your Missis?’

‘Why, she’s sunk very low, Mester Crich, she’s a’most gone, she is — ’

Sometimes, it seemed to Mrs Crich as if her husband were some subtle funeral bird, feeding on