Mrs Gamp nodded, made as if she were swallowing, and went on.
'Who's lying dead upstairs; sech was his Bible language; and where was
Mr Chuzzlewit as had the only son; and when he goes upstairs a-looking
in the beds and wandering about the rooms, and comes down again
a-whisperin' softly to his-self about foul play and that; it gives me
sech a turn, I don't deny it, Mr Chuzzlewit, that I never could have kep
myself up but for a little drain o' spirits, which I seldom touches, but
could always wish to know where to find, if so dispoged, never knowin'
wot may happen next, the world bein' so uncertain.'
'Why, the old fool's mad!' cried Jonas, much disturbed.
'That's my opinion, sir,' said Mrs Gamp, 'and I will not deceive you. I
believe as Mr Chuffey, sir, rekwires attention (if I may make so bold),
and should not have his liberty to wex and worrit your sweet lady as he
does.'
'Why, who minds what he says?' retorted Jonas.
'Still he is worritin' sir,' said Mrs Gamp. 'No one don't mind him, but
he IS a ill conwenience.'
'Ecod you're right,' said Jonas, looking doubtfully at the subject of
this conversation.
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