When she would sit with her paper before her, preparing her future work for the press, copying a bit here and a bit there, inventing historical details, dovetailing her chronicle, her head would sometimes seem to be going round as she remembered the unpaid baker, and her son's horses, and his unmeaning dissipation, and all her doubts about the marriage. 
When she was trying to write, her head would sometimes seem to be full of the unpaid baker, and her son's horses, and his dissipation. 