every detail: the sharpening of the knives, the having ready of mops
and pails of water for purposes of after cleaning up. As a writer she
would have followed the realistic school.

Her death, with which we invariably wound up the afternoon, was
another conscientious effort. Indeed, her groans and writhings would
sometimes frighten me. I always welcomed the last gurgle. That
finished, but not a moment before, my aunt would let down her
skirt--in this way suggesting the fall of the curtain upon our
play--and set to work to get the tea.

Another frequently recurring picture that I see is of myself in
glazed-peaked cap explaining many things the while we walk through
dingy streets to yet a smaller figure curly haired and open eyed.
Still every now and then she runs ahead to turn and look admiringly
into my face as on the day she first became captive to the praise and
fame of me.

I was glad of her company for more reasons than she knew of. For one,
she protected me against my baser self. With her beside me I should
not have dared to flee from sudden foes. Indeed, together we courted
adventure; for once you get used to it this standing hazard of attack
adds a charm to outdoor exercise that older folk in districts better
policed enjoy not. So possibly my dog feels when together we take the
air. To me it is a simple walk, maybe a little tiresome, suggested
rather by contemplation of my waistband than by desire for walking for
mere walking's sake; to him an expedition full of danger and
surprises: "The gentleman asleep with one eye open on The Chequer's
doorstep! will he greet me with a friendly sniff or try to bite my
head off? This cross-eyed, lop-eared loafer, lurching against the