The man’s face was thin and very pale; his hair and beard were grizzly; his eyes were bloodshot. The old woman’s face was wrinkled; her two remaining teeth protruded over her under lip; and her eyes were bright and piercing. Oliver was afraid to look at either her or the man. They seemed so like the rats he had seen outside.

“Nobody shall go near her,” said the man, starting fiercely up, as the undertaker approached the recess. “Keep back! Damn you, keep back, if you’ve a life to lose!”

“Nonsense, my good man,” said the undertaker, who was pretty well used to misery in all its shapes. “Nonsense!”

“I tell you,” said the man: clenching his hands, and stamping furiously on the floor⁠—“I tell you I won’t have her put into the ground. She couldn’t rest there. The worms would worry her⁠—not eat her⁠—she is so worn away.”

The undertaker offered no reply to this raving; but producing a tape from his pocket, knelt down for a moment by the side of the body.