Sometimes I saw her: she would come out of her room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go down to the kitchen and shortly return, generally (oh, romantic reader, forgive me for telling the plain truth!) bearing a pot of porter.
En ocasiones yo la veía salir o entrar en su cuarto llevando, ora una jofaina, ora una bandeja o un plato, ora (perdona, lector romántico, que te diga la verdad desnuda) un gran jarro de cerveza.