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Updated: June 4, 2025
They had married late in life why, nobody could tell and had one child, a girl, whom the mother seemed to disregard just as she did her husband, saving that she dressed her and washed her with the same care which she bestowed on her kettle and candlesticks. "It's a good thing for you, Fitchew, that she is what she is." Fitchew hesitated for some time.
You may try Warden if you like, and maybe he'll treat you better than I do." "Mr. Lovell, 10 pounds you shall have next Saturday fortnight as sure as my name's Bill Fitchew."
"I suppose you guess, Master Fitchew, what I've come about: you've had this bill twice I send my bills out only once a year and you've not paid a penny." Fitchew looks on the ground, and gives his head a shake on one side as if he were mortified beyond measure. "I know it, Mr. Lovell, nobody can be more vexed than I am, but I can't get nothing out of the farmers.
"Yes, well, I said to myself, after I'd had a cup of tea and something to eat this morning I didn't say it afore then, though that it might be wuss. If she was allus a slaverin' on me and a pityin' me, it wouldn't do me no good; and then we are as we are, and we must make the best of it." When Miriam parted from Fitchew she had still ten minutes' walk.
A little girl, about eight years old, who was hurried into her white, Sunday frock with red ribbons, as soon as her mother saw my uncle at the gate, runs up towards him according to secret instructions, but stops short by about a yard, puts her forefinger on her lip and looks at him. "Hullo, my pretty dear, what's your name? Dear, what's your name?" "Say Keziah Fitchew, sir," prompts Mrs.
Inside the bag is a little hay for them to lay on. He prefers the fitchew ferret as he calls it; that is the sort that are coloured like a polecat. He says they are fiercer, larger of make and more powerful. But he has also a couple of white ones with pink eyes.
Warrington, why do you drop the first syllable of your name?" "Because it is never pronounced rightly," said Hugh; "it is either called 'Fitz-He-yew, or 'Fitchew." "Pronunciation is a matter of taste," said Mr. Leslie, laughing.
It is a problem of immense importance. Uncle turns to Bill, so that Keziah cannot see him, puts up his left hand to the side of his face and winks violently. "I suppose it's one o'clock as usual, Mr. Lovell, at the Red Lion?" My uncle laughs as he moves to the gate. "I tell you what it is, Mr. Fitchew, you're a precious rascal; that's what you are."
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