" "Sairey," says Mrs Harris, "sech is life. Vich likeways is the
hend of all things!"'
The barber gave a soft murmur, as much as to say that Mrs Harris's
remark, though perhaps not quite so intelligible as could be desired
from such an authority, did equal honour to her head and to her heart.
'And here,' continued Mrs Gamp, 'and here am I a-goin twenty mile in
distant, on as wentersome a chance as ever any one as monthlied ever
run, I do believe. Says Mrs Harris, with a woman's and a mother's
art a-beatin in her human breast, she says to me, "You're not a-goin,
Sairey, Lord forgive you!" "Why am I not a-goin, Mrs Harris?" I replies.
"Mrs Gill," I says, "wos never wrong with six; and is it likely,
ma'am--I ast you as a mother--that she will begin to be unreg'lar now?
Often and often have I heerd him say," I says to Mrs Harris, meaning Mr
Gill, "that he would back his wife agen Moore's almanack, to name the
very day and hour, for ninepence farden. IS it likely, ma'am," I says,
"as she will fail this once?" Says Mrs Harris "No, ma'am, not in the
course of natur. But," she says, the tears a-fillin in her eyes, "you
knows much betterer than me, with your experienge, how little puts us
out.
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