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Little Dorrit

By CHARLES DICKENS Condensation by CHARLES E. L. WINGATE "AFFERY, what girl was that in my mother's room just now?" "Oh, she? Little Dorrit? She's nothing; she's a whim of--hers."

And thus Mrs. Flintwinch, wife of the crafty, crablike walking footman of the household, introduced to Arthur Clennam the name of the poor little seamstress of the paralytic Mrs. Clennam.

He had noted her pale, transparent face, quick in expression though not beautiful in feature, excepting for its soft hazel eyes. A delicately bent head, a tiny form, a shabby dress--it must needs have been very shabby to look at all so, being so neat--were Little Dorrit as she sat at work. A strange presentiment came into Arthur's mind that, in some way, this gentle maiden was connected with his history.