{"id":"01KG6G84ATBPJ52ZYDBC5PS78H","cid":"bafkreib2xywlspbpk2quosmxcfqg5ly3gydwt4c2lrp74ijbd3capjh4ei","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":6114,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T03:48:16.153Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG6FXSCNX5F3D880P3YP3PKR","start_line":6072,"text":"quite mossy and toad-stooled with long lying bedded among the\r\naccumulated dead leaves of many autumns. They made a sad hissing, and\r\nvain spluttering enough.\r\n\r\n‘You must rest yourself here till dinner-time, at least,’ said the dame;\r\n‘what I have you are heartily welcome to.’\r\n\r\nI thanked her again, and begged her not to heed my presence in the\r\nleast, but go on with her usual affairs.\r\n\r\nI was struck by the aspect of the room. The house was old, and\r\nconstitutionally damp. The window-sills had beads of exuded dampness\r\nupon them. The shrivelled sashes shook in their frames, and the green\r\npanes of glass were clouded with the long thaw. On some little errand\r\nthe dame passed into an adjoining chamber, leaving the door partly open.\r\nThe floor of that room was carpetless, as the kitchen was. Nothing but\r\nbare necessaries were about me; and those not of the best sort. Not a\r\nprint on the wall; but an old volume of Doddridge lay on the smoked\r\nchimney-shelf.\r\n\r\n‘You must have walked a long way, sir; you sigh so with weariness.’\r\n\r\n‘No, I am not nigh so weary as yourself, I dare say.’\r\n\r\n‘Oh, but _I_ am accustomed to that; _you_ are not, I should think,’ and\r\nher soft, sad, blue eye ran over my dress. ‘But I must sweep these\r\nshavings away; husband made him a new ax-helve this morning before\r\nsunrise, and I have been so busy washing, that I have had no time to\r\nclear up. But now they are just the thing I want for the fire. They’d be\r\nmuch better, though, were they not so green.’\r\n\r\nNow if Blandmour were here, thought I to myself, he would call those\r\ngreen shavings ‘Poor Man’s Matches,’ or ‘Poor Man’s Tinder,’ or some\r\npleasant name of that sort.\r\n\r\n‘I do not know,’ said the good woman, turning round to me again, as she\r\nstirred among her pots on the smoky fire--‘I do not know how you will\r\nlike our pudding. It is only rice, milk, and salt boiled together.’\r\n\r\n‘Ah, what they call “Poor Man’s Pudding,” I suppose you mean.’\r\n\r\nA quick flush, half resentful, passed over her face.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG6G6Q5Y5Q2MTRK1KS8VAV8N","peer_type":"section","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG6FXSCNX5F3D880P3YP3PKR","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG2T49K0H5GDRB0G4YDTPG8H","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG6G84AMX5PDVY9P759XPZJ5","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG6G84ATDY7DYW4SFMWZMYZX","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T03:48:16.346Z","ts":"2026-01-30T03:48:28.204Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}