"The immense accretion of flesh which had descended on her in middle life like a flood of lava on a doomed city had changed her from a plump active little woman with a neatly-turned foot and ankle into something as vast and august as a natural phenomenon. She had accepted this submergences as philosophically as all her other trials, and now, in extreme old age, was rewarded by presenting her mirror an almost unwrinkled expanse of firm pink and white flesh, in the centre of which the traces of a small face survived as if awaiting excavation."
Edith, you slay me! And everyone else, for that matter. It has been about eight years since I last read this book. When thinking of it since I've been mostly preoccupied with that melancholy final scene and I had entirely forgotten how funny and brutal she is.
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