Ah. So burning soap has a rather similar effect - I suppose it would, really - to spontaneous human combustion.
Bleak House, chap 32.
āAh!ā returns Mr Guppy. āSee how the sootās falling. See here, on my arm! See again, on the table here! Confound the stuff, it wonāt blow off ā smears, like black fat!ā ā¦
āFah! Hereās more of this hateful soot hanging about,ā says he. āLet us open the window a bit, and get a mouthful of air. Itās too close.ā ā¦
Mr Guppy sitting on the window-sill, nodding his head and balancing all these possibilities in his mind, continues thoughtfully to tap it, and clasp it, and measure it with his hand, until he hastily draws his hand away.
āWhat, in the Devilās name,ā he says, āis this! Look at my fingers!ā
A thick, yellow liquor defiles them, which is offensive to the touch and sight, and more offensive to the smell. A stagnant, sickening oil, with some natural repulsion in it that makes them both shudder. ā¦
And yet look here ā and look here! When he brings the candle, here, from the corner of the window-sill, it slowly drips and creeps away down the bricks; here, lies in a little thick nauseous pool. ā¦
There is a very little fire left in the grate, but there is a smouldering suffocating vapour in the room, and a dark greasy coating on the walls and ceiling. The chairs and table, and the bottle so rarely absent from the table, all stand as usual.
_Y_our major collapse, though - and coo, er, crikey, must have been a horrible shock, that - is out of Little Dorrit.