She was miserably dressed, and carried some skins over her arm.
She seemed to have followed Florence some little way at all events, for she had lost her breath; and this made her uglier still, as she stood trying to regain it: working her shrivelled yellow face and throat into all sorts of contortions.
Florence was afraid of her, and looked, hesitating, up the street, of which she had almost reached the bottom.
It was a solitary place - more a back road than a street - and there was no one in it but her- self and the old woman.
You needn't be frightened now,' said the old woman, still holding her tight.
Come along with me.' 'I - I don't know you.
What's your name?' asked Florence.
Mrs Brown,' said the old woman.
Good Mrs Brown.' 'Are they near here?' asked Florence, beginning to be led away.