precious time

, and showing me a countenance in which there are some traces of old pride and beauty, feebly contending with a querulous, imbecile, fretful wandering of the mind? She is in a garden; and near her stands a sharp, dark, withered woman, with a white scar on her lip. Let me hear what they say. ¡¡¡¡'Rosa, I have forgotten this gentleman's name.' ¡¡¡¡Rosa bends over her, and calls to her, 'Mr. Copperfield.' ¡¡¡¡'I am glad to see you, sir. I am sorry to observe you are in mourning. I hope Time will be good to you.' ¡¡¡¡Her impatient attendant scolds her, tells her I am not in mourning, bids her look again, tries to rouse her. ¡¡¡¡'You have seen my son,
' Looking fixedly at me, she puts her hand to her forehead, and moans. Suddenly, she cries, in a terrible voice, 'Rosa, come to me. He is dead!' Rosa kneeling at her feet, by turns caresses her, and quarrels with her; now fiercely telling her, 'I loved him better than you ever did!'- now soothing her to sleep on her breast, like a sick child. Thus I leave them; thus I always find them; thus they wear their time away, from year to year.