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Updated: June 23, 2025
It consisted of a cascade of paper shavings with a frontage of paper roses and tinsel foliage, and was remarkable not only for its own sake but because Mrs Bowldler had chosen to display the roses upside down. But though Cai stared at it hard, he observed it not. For some minutes his mind refused to work beyond the catastrophe. "If it had happened if 'Bias had indeed lost all his money. . . ."
But Cai on his way upstairs to titivate perceived that the lamp was lit and the cloth spread in his own parlour; and, as he noted this with a vague surprise, encountered Mrs Bowldler.
"A book," owned Palmerston with gloom. "A man must try to raise himself somehow." "Of course he must. What sort of book?" "It's it's only a story." "Why," she reassured him, "I heard of a man the other day who wrote a story and made A Thousand Pounds. It was quite unexpected, and surprised even his friends." "It must be the same man Mrs Bowldler told me about.
"The artfulness!" exclaimed Mrs Bowldler on making discovery of this arrangement. "But the men are no match for us, my dear" this to Fancy "an' the oftener they marry us the cleverer they leave us." "Then 'tis a good job Henry the Eighth wasn' a woman," commented Fancy. "There was some such case in the Scriptures, if you'll remember; and it says that last of all the woman died also.
It had happened happened past recall, and as Mrs Bowldler had more than once observed in the course of the morning, the worst was not over yet. "For," as she said, "out of two cold geese and two cold puddings I'll trouble you this next week for your entrays and what-not." "What was Middlecoat's business, ma'am? makin' so bold," inquired 'Bias.
"I have rode in my time in a side-saddle: and that, sir, is not easily forgotten. But if you will overlook it, gentlemen," said Mrs Bowldler tearfully, "I might go on to mention that Palmerston have had a misfortune with a tumbler last night." Cai continued to stare. "I saw a couple performin' in the street yesterday. How did the boy get mixed up in it?"
If she did, you may be sure as 'twasn't till she chose." "I heard Mr Rogers say t'other day, 'Never marry a widow unless her first husband was hanged." "Pray let us change the subjeck," said Mrs Bowldler hastily. "Why? . . . What did Mr Bowldler die of? I've often meant to ask," said Fancy, "and then again I've wondered sometimes if there ever was any such person." "There was such a person."
Nay, in the dusk of the staircase he but just missed turning a somersault over her. "Hullo! Why, what's the matter, missus?" "Oh oh!" sobbed Mrs Bowldler. "Bitter is the bread of poverty, deny it who can! And me, that have gone about Troy streets in my time with one pound fifteen's worth of feathers on my hat! Ostrich.
Of course," added Mrs Bowldler, "you understand that our appetites are not what they were: that there has been a distink droppin' off since you know what. They both eats, in a fashion, but where's the pleasure in pleasin' 'em? Heart-renderin', I call it, when a devilled kidney might be a plain boiled cabbage for all the heed taken, and you knowin' all the while that a woman's at the bottom of it."
"He broke it clearin' up the debree in the summer-house after the visitors had gone," Mrs Bowldler explained. "Which being a new departure, I hope you will allow me to pass it by in his case with a caution." In the course of the forenoon Cai paid a call at Mr Rogers's harbour-side store, where he found Mr Rogers himself superintending, from his invalid-chair, the weighing out of coal.
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