But I suppose there are some arrangements connected with his private papers and so forth, consequent on the affliction that has tried us all so much--I can't think what's become of mine: Lucretia, lend me yours, my dear--that may occupy him for one or two evenings in his own room.

Your Papa's a Dombey, child, if ever there was one,' said Mrs Chick, drying both her eyes at once with great care on opposite corners of Miss Tox's handkerchief 'He'll make an effort.
There's no fear of him.' 'Is there nothing, aunt,' said Florence, trembling, 'I might do to--' 'Lord, my dear child,' interposed Mrs Chick, hastily, 'what are you talking about?
If your Papa said to Me--I have given you his exact words, "Louisa, I want nothing; I am better by myself"-- what do you think he'd say to you?
You mustn't show yourself to him, child.

Don't dream of such a thing.' 'Aunt,' said Florence, 'I will go and lie down on my bed.' Mrs Chick approved of this resolution, and dismissed her with a kiss.

But Miss Tox, on a faint pretence of looking for the mislaid handkerchief, went upstairs after her; and tried in a few stolen minutes to comfort her, in spite of great discouragement from Susan Nipper.

For Miss Nipper, in her burning zeal, disparaged Miss Tox as a crocodile; yet her sympathy seemed genuine, and had at least the vantage-ground of disinterestedness--there was little favour to be won by it.
And was there no one nearer and dearer than Susan, to uphold the striving heart in its anguish?
Was there no other neck to clasp; no other face to turn to?
no one else to say a soothing word to such deep sorrow?
Was Florence so alone in the bleak world that nothing else remained to her?
Nothing.