In a long experience of gentlemen lodgers, Mrs Verloc's mother had acquired a dismal but resigned notion of the fantastic side of human nature.

What if Mr Verloc suddenly took it into his head to tell Stevie to take his blessed sticks somewhere out of that?
A division, on the other hand, however carefully made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie.

No, Stevie must remain destitute and dependent.

And at the moment of leaving Brett Street she had said to her daughter: "No use waiting till I am dead, is there?
Everything I leave here is altogether your own now, my dear." Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother's back, went on arranging the collar of the old woman's cloak.

She got her hand-bag, an umbrella, with an impassive face.