I've got to bone up on the Reverend Martin and his little woman.
Dean bit his lip, assuming the little woman was about to complain about Gladys Turnbull's late night writing, but she had other concerns.
Down here to call the little woman?
No little woman is so trifling and sordid, no handmaid so squalid, but that she gained some advantage from his death.
I suppose I shall have many such battles with the little woman before she learns the only two essential things I can teach her, obedience and love.
