And it's all my fault, sending you back after my fan, and I had it
all the time in my own pocket; and it comes from my habit of giving
it to you to carry in your overcoat pocket, because it's deep, and
the fan can't break. And of course I never thought of my own pocket,
and I never SHOULD have thought of it at all if Mr. Curwen hadn't
been going back to get Mrs. Curwen's glove, for he'd brought another
right after she'd sent him for a left, and we were all having such a
laugh about it, and I just happened to put my hand on my pocket, and
there I felt the fan. And oh, WHAT shall I do?" Mrs. Miller utters
these explanations and self-reproaches in a lamentable voice, while
crouching close to the grated door to the elevator shaft, and
clinging to its meshes.

MILLER: "Well, well, it's all right. I've got you another fan,
here. Don't be frightened."

MRS. ROBERTS, wildly: "Where's Aunt Mary, Edward? Has Willis got
back?" At a guilty look from her husband: "Edward! DON'T tell me
that SHE'S in that elevator! Don't do it, Edward! For your own sake
don't. Don't tell me that your own child's mother's aunt is down
there, suspended between heaven and earth like--like" -

LAWTON: "The coffin of the Prophet."

MRS. ROBERTS: "Yes. DON'T tell me, Edward! Spare your child's
mother, if you won't spare your wife!"

MRS. CRASHAW: "Agnes! don't be ridiculous. I'm here, and I never
was more comfortable in my life."