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Updated: June 3, 2025
Mistress Matchwell in the meantime, exchanging a passing word with the servant, who darkened and drew back as if a ghost had crossed her, gathered her rustling silks about her, and with a few long steps noiselessly mounted the narrow stairs, and stood, sallow and terrible in her sables, before the poor gentlewoman. With two efforts Mrs.
The fact is, however, that neither the doctor nor his patient quite understood Mrs. Matchwell or her powers, nor had the least inkling of the marvellous designs that were ripening in her brain, and involving the fate of more than one of the good easy people of Chapelizod, against whom nobody dreamed a thunderbolt was forging.
'I thank you that'll do, Sir, said the lawyer, with a lazy chuckle. 'I'll now do myself the honour to make my compliments to Mrs. Sally Nutther, said Father Roach, making a solemn bow to Mrs. Matchwell, who, with a shrill sneer, pursued him as he disappeared with 'The lady in the bed-room, your reverence? Whereat Dirty Davy renewed his wheezy chuckle.
'Augh, bother! didn't I swear my soul, Ma'am; and do you think I'm going to commit a perjury about "Mary Matchwell" phiat! Well, with much ado, and a great circumbendibus, and floods of tears, and all sorts of deprecations and confusions, out came the murder at last. Poor Mrs. Mack had a duty to perform by her daughter. 'To find a husband for Mag, eh? said Toole. 'No, no. Oh, Dr.
So he rode up to the Mills, and knocked his alarm, as we have seen and heard, and there told his tidings to poor Sally Nutter, vastly to the relief of Mistress Matchwell, the Blind Fiddler, and even of the sage, Dirt Davy; for there are persons upon the earth to whom a sudden summons of any sort always sounds like a call to judgment, and who, in any such ambiguous case, fill up the moments of suspense with wild conjecture, and a ghastly summing-up against themselves; can it be this or that or the other old, buried, distant villainy, that comes back to take me by the throat?
Every unusual look or dubious word thrilled her with a sense of danger. Suspicion is the baleful instinct of self-preservation with which the devil gifts his children; and hers never slept. 'What doctor? said Mrs. Matchwell, turning her large, dismal, wicked gaze full on Mrs. Mack. 'Doctor Toole, Ma'am. She dared not tell a literal lie to that piercing, prominent pair of black eyes.
'Put on your riding-hood, if you please, Madam, and come down with me in the coach to introduce me to Mrs. Nutter, said Mrs. Matchwell, at the same time tapping with her long bony fingers to the driver. 'There's no need of that, Madam. I said what you desired, and I sent a note to her last night, and she expects you just now; and, indeed, I'd rather not go, Madam, if you please.
Mistress Matchwell made a faint courtesy in return, and, without saying anything, sat down, and peered sharply round the room. 'I'm glad, Ma'am, you had no dust to-day; the rain, Ma'am, laid it beautiful.
The hall-door lay open, as Mary Matchwell had left it. Nutter stood on the door-step, where he could hear faintly, from above stairs, the cries and wails of poor, hysterical Mrs. Nutter. He remained there a good while, during which, unperceived by him, Dr. Toole's pestle-and-mortar-boy, who had entered by the back-way, had taken a seat in the hall.
This dame, as she stepped with a long leg, in a black silk stocking, to the ground, swept the front windows of the house from under her velvet hood with a sharp and evil glance; and in fact she was Mistress Mary Matchwell. As she beheld her, poor Mrs. Mack's heart fluttered up to her mouth, and then dropped with a dreadful plump, into the pit of her stomach.
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