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Updated: June 11, 2025
Mavis was alone; it was, comparatively, a long time before she gathered what Mrs Gowler meant. When she realised that the woman had as good as offered to murder her child, when born, for the sum of ten pounds, her first impulse was to leave the house.
"What about gettin' your box upstairs?" asked Mrs Gowler, as if wishful to change the subject. "Isn't there anyone who can carry it up?" "Not to-night. Yer can't expect my Oscar to soil 'is 'ands with menial work. I'm bringing him up to be the gent he is." "Then I'll go down and fetch what I want for the night." "Let me git 'em for yer," volunteered Mrs Gowler, as her eyes twinkled greedily.
Although it was late in May, a roaring fire was burning in the kitchen, about which, on various sized towel-horses, numerous articles of babies' attire were airing. "Too 'ot for yer?" asked Mrs Gowler. "I don't mind where it is so long as I sit down." "'Ow do you like your tea?" asked her hostess. "Noo or stooed?" "I'd like fresh tea if it isn't any trouble," replied Mavis.
It did not occur to her how house-room, furniture, doctors, nurses, and servants supply dignity to a commonplace process of nature. It seemed to Mavis that Mrs Gowler lived in an atmosphere of horror and pain. Oscar inspired Mavis with an inexpressible loathing.
Three nights before Mavis left Durley Road, she was awakened by the noise of Jill's subdued growling. Thinking she heard someone outside her room, she went stealthily to the door; she opened it quickly, to find Mrs Gowler on hands and knees before her box, which she was trying to open with a bunch of keys. "What are you doing?" asked Mavis.
"This way, please, Mrs 'Aughty," Mrs Gowler presently called from the landing above Mavis's head. Mavis walked up the two flights of stairs, followed by Jill, where she found Mrs Gowler in the passage leading to the two top-back rooms of the house.
Perhaps this further self-effacement where her lover was concerned urgently moved her to stand no trifling in respect of others. Consequently, when about half-past ten Mrs Gowler opened the door, accompanied by her idiot son, Oscar, who looked more imbecile than ever in elaborate clothes, she was not a little surprised to be greeted by Mavis with the words: "What does this mean?"
"An' their cost!" grumbled Mrs Gowler, as she drained the second bottle by putting it to her lips. "They simply eat good money, an' never 'ave enough." "One must look after one's own," remarked Mavis. "Little dears! 'Ow I love their pretty prattle. It makes me think of 'eavens an' Gawd's angels," said Mrs Gowler. Then, as Mavis did not make any remark, she added: "Six was born 'ere last week."
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