“Cold? I was born with inflammation of the lungs, and of everything else, I believe, that was capable of inflammation,” returned Mr. Bounderby. “For years, ma’am, I was one of the most miserable little wretches ever seen. I was so sickly, that I was always moaning and groaning. I was so ragged and dirty, that you wouldn’t have touched me with a pair of tongs.”

Mrs. Gradgrind faintly looked at the tongs, as the most appropriate thing her imbecility could think of doing.

“How I fought through it, I don’t know,” said Bounderby. “I was determined, I suppose. I have been a determined character in later life, and I suppose I was then. Here I am, Mrs. Gradgrind, anyhow, and nobody to thank for my being here, but myself.”