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Updated: May 13, 2025
Yes, Joe, the street an' me's old pals. We've seen one another in sickness an' sorrer an' joy an' jollification, an' it 'ud be a poor job ter part us now. Funny, ain't it? This street is more like a 'uman bein' ter me than plenty I know. Yer see, I can't read the paper, an' see 'oo's bin married and murdered through the week, bein' no scholar, but I can read Cardigan Street like a book.
She gave a little shriek. ''Oo's thet? she asked, for it was quite dark, and she did not recognize the man standing in front of her. 'Me, Liza, was the answer. 'Tom? 'Yus!
"That's what I've been thinking this long time," said old Bob Carter, who had for over forty years made a point of agreeing with the most disagreeable person at the moment in the bar of the "Bull and Gate." "Isn't there? You wait an' see. You wait till the trial," said William Roper. "Trial? There won't be no trial. 'Oo's a goin' to be tried? They ain't agoin' to try Jim 'Utchings.
"Oh, cheese it!" said Tilda. "Oo's a-kiddin' now? An' see 'ere, Arthur Miles it don't matter with me, a lie up or down; I'm on'y Tilda. But don't you pick up the 'abit, or else you'll annoy me. I can't tell why ezactly, but it don't sit on you." "Tilda?" The boy caught up her name like an echo. "Tilda what?" "The Lord knows. Tilda nothin' Tilda o' Maggs's, if you like, an' nobody's child, anyway."
They'd be astonished tae hear the sort of talk goes on in the gallery of the Pav., in London just for a sample. I've heard! "Gaw bli'me, Alf 'oo's this toff? Comes on next. 'Mr. Arthur Andrews, the Celebrated Shakespearian Actor." "Never heard on him," says Alf, indifferently. And so it goes. Mr.
Why, sir, if you'll believe me, there's not one in a hundred that comes to this church that ever 'eard of Pepys. "Pepys!" says they. "'Oo's Pepys?" "The Diarist," says I. "Diarist!" says they, "wot's a Diarist?" I could sit down sometimes an' cry. But maybe, miss, you thought as you were picking that plaster off 'is grave? 'Yes, I thought so. The clerk chuckled. 'Well, it ain't so.
Oo's turn next? FRED. Wot's the bleedin' good of bein' dahn in the mahf abaht it? Give me the bleedin' 'ump, you do. JIM. Are we dahn-'earted? Not 'alf, we ain't! BILL. I don't know as I cares. Git it over, I sez. 'Ave done wiv it! I dessay as them wot's gone West is better off nor wot we are, arter all.
"If only 'e 'ad lived " repeated the engineer in a strange far-away tone, "Oo's 'e?" he asked eagerly. "You know old Abey Turner as keeps the little sweet-an'-tobaccer shop over to Dorton Ware?" pursued the stoker. "Old Abey is a agint for the Popular Thrifty Life Insurance Company " "I know 'e is," confirmed the engineer.
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