She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. And, though it's a long time ago, I feel as sore on the subject as ever. At any rate, he began to deliberately personate him.
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