A fat-faced puss she
is, as ever I come across!'
As she uttered this criticism, she glanced approvingly at her small
mirror, as who should say, I thank my stars that can't be said of
me!--as it certainly could not; for Miss Miggs's style of beauty was of
that kind which Mr Tappertit himself had not inaptly termed, in private,
'scraggy.'
'I don't go to bed this night!' said Miggs, wrapping herself in a shawl,
and drawing a couple of chairs near the window, flouncing down upon
one, and putting her feet upon the other, 'till you come home, my lad. I
wouldn't,' said Miggs viciously, 'no, not for five-and-forty pound!'
With that, and with an expression of face in which a great number of
opposite ingredients, such as mischief, cunning, malice, triumph,
and patient expectation, were all mixed up together in a kind of
physiognomical punch, Miss Miggs composed herself to wait and listen,
like some fair ogress who had set a trap and was watching for a nibble
from a plump young traveller.
She sat there, with perfect composure, all night. At length, just upon
break of day, there was a footstep in the street, and presently she
could hear Mr Tappertit stop at the door.
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