text:  First I pictured myself applying to my friend Pennyfeather who lives in that dark court near the Bank of England and sleeps in Paradise at his charming villa in Kent and gaining through his powerful interest a situation--say of eighty pounds per annum--for the father of the family; then visiting that incomparable and gentle lady Mrs Pennyfeather whose woman's heart opens to a tale of sorrow as flowers turn their beauty to the sun and obtaining a firm promise touching the needle-work for Mrs Warton