CHAPTER XIX 246
" I do ; especially when I ' ve customers like you to deal with . Why don ' t you tremble ?"
" I ' m not cold ." " Why don ' t you turn pale ?" " I am not sick ." " Why don ' t you consult my art ?" " I ' m not silly ."
The old crone " nichered " a laugh under her bonnet and bandage ; she then drew out a short black pipe , and lighting it began to smoke . Having indulged a while in this sedative , she raised her bent body , took the pipe from her lips , and while gazing steadily at the fire , said very deliberately -- " You are cold ; you are sick ; and you are silly ."
" Prove it ," I rejoined .
" I will , in few words . You are cold , because you are alone : no contact strikes the fire from you that is in you . You are sick ; because the best of feelings , the highest and the sweetest given to man , keeps far away from you . You are silly , because , suffer as you may , you will not beckon it to approach , nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waits you ."
She again put her short black pipe to her lips , and renewed her smoking with vigour .
" You might say all that to almost any one who you knew lived as a solitary dependent in a great house ."
" I might say it to almost any one : but would it be true of almost any one ?" " In my circumstances ."