And you think that at no time of your father's life was my name of Clennam ever familiar to him ?' 'No, sir.' He felt, from the tone in which she spoke, that she was glancing up at him with those parted lips; therefore he looked before him, rather than make her heart beat quicker still by embarrassing her afresh.
Thus they emerged upon the Iron Bridge, which was as quiet after the roaring streets as though it had been open country.

The wind blew roughly, the wet squalls came rattling past them, skimming the pools on the road and pavement, and raining them down into the river.

The clouds raced on furiously in the lead-Coloured sky, the smoke and mist raced after them, the dark tide ran fierce and strong in the same direction.
Little Dorrit seemed the least, the quietest, and weakest of Heaven's creatures.
'Let me put you in a coach,' said Clennam, very nearly adding 'my poor child.' She hurriedly declined, saying that wet or dry made little difference to her; she was used to go about in all weathers.

He knew it to be so, and was touched with more pity; thinking of the slight figure at his side, making its nightly way through the damp dark boisterous streets to such a place of rest.

'You spoke so feelingly to me last night, sir, and I found afterwards that you had been so generous to my father, that I could not resist your message, if it was only to thank you; especially as I wished very much to say to you--' she hesitated and trembled, and tears rose in her eyes, but did not fall.
'To say to me-- ?' 'That I hope you will not misunderstand my father.