“Oh my stars and what’s-their-names!” she went on, clapping a hand on each of her little knees, and glancing shrewdly at me, “I’m of too full a habit, that’s the fact, Steerforth. After a flight of stairs, it gives me as much trouble to draw every breath I want, as if it was a bucket of water. If you saw me looking out of an upper window, you’d think I was a fine woman, wouldn’t you?”

“I should think that, wherever I saw you,” replied Steerforth.