"Matilda?" Mother's voice called up the stairs. "Now!"
I made a face at the doorway. I had just saved her precious quilt from disaster, but would she appreciate it? Of course not.
No more dawdling. I had to get dressed.
I fastened my stays and a badly embroidered pocket over the white shift I slept in. Then I stepped into my blue linen skirt. It nearly showed my ankles. Along with the ceiling getting lower, my clothes were shrinking, too. (1.23-1.26)
He looked much more a man and less a boy than he had a few months earlier. He had sprouted up over my head and grown broad in the chest. Stop, I cautioned myself. You shouldn't look at him as if he were a racehorse for sale. But his hair was a beautiful chestnut color... (5.58)
How could the city have changed so much? Yellow fever was wrestling the life out of Philadelphia, infecting the cobblestones, the trees, the nature of the people. Was I living through another nightmare? (16.41)