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Updated: June 12, 2025
"To see unhappiness is a very blade in my heart!" sighed Señora Vigil, recovering herself. "Do not make the thread short, Lolita! No, no! I shall have to thread the needle again before the week is out, if you do. Ah, yes! I wept much the day when you were lost, and Bev Gribble, the vaquero, brought you home on his horse. 'Twas long ago. And now you are grown tall and can play the piano.
"I I said it was my money," she stammered. Mr. Gribble rose, and stood for a full minute regarding her. Then, kicking a chair out of his way, he took his hat from its peg in the passage and, with a bang of the street-door that sent a current of fresh, sweet air circulating through the house, strode off to the Grafton Arms.
"Wonderful!" said the other, with a mocking glint in his eye. "And iron palings to the front garden, painted chocolate-colour picked out with blue," continued his wife, eyeing him wistfully. Mr. Gribble struck the table a blow with his fist. "This house is good enough for me," he roared; "and what's good enough for me is good enough for you. You want to waste money on show; that's what you want.
Going upstairs deprived her of breath; carrying a loaded tea-tray produced a long and alarming stitch in the side. The last time she ever filled the coal-scuttle she was discovered sitting beside it on the floor in a state of collapse. "You'd better go and see the doctor," said Mr. Gribble. Mrs. Gribble went.
"It's nice to have money come to us in our old age," said Mrs. Gribble, timidly, as they sat at tea. "It takes a load off my mind." "Old age!" said her husband, disagreeably. "What d'ye mean by old age? I'm fifty-two, and feel as young as ever I did." "You look as young as ever you did," said the docile Mrs. Gribble. "I can't see no change in you. At least, not to speak of."
"You had better lie up for a week," he said, decidedly. "The rest will do you good." "Nothing serious, I s'pose?" said Mr. Gribble, as he led the way downstairs to the small parlour. "She ought to be all right with care," was the reply. "Care?" repeated the other, distastefully. "What's the matter with her?" "She's not very strong," said the doctor; "and hearts don't improve with age, you know.
Under favourable conditions she's good for some years yet. The great thing is never to thwart her. Let her have her own way in everything." "Own way in everything?" repeated the dumbfounded Mr. Gribble. The doctor nodded. "Never let her worry about anything," he continued; "and, above all, never find fault with her." "Not," said Mr. Gribble, thickly "not even for her own good?"
"That's not very likely," said Mr. Gribble. "You're tough enough. And if it did your money would come to me." Mrs. Gribble shook her head. "WHAT?" roared her husband, jumping up. "I've only got it for life, Henry, as I told you," said Mrs. Gribble, in alarm. "I thought you knew it would stop when I died." "And what's to become of me if anything happens to you, then?" demanded the dismayed Mr.
For instance, we may quote her outburst with regard to unhappy marriages. "It was the subject," says Mr. Gribble, "on which she had begun to think before she was married, and which continued to haunt her long after she was left a widow; though one suspects that the word 'marriage' became a form of speech employed to describe her relations, not with her husband, but with her lovers."
"I spoke to old Potts as one gentleman of independent means to another," said Mr. Gribble, smiling. "Thirty-five bob a week after twenty years' service! And he had the cheek to tell me I wasn't worth that. When I told him what he was worth he talked about sending for the police. What are you looking like that for? I've worked hard for you for thirty years, and I've had enough of it.
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