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Updated: May 28, 2025
Michael rubbed the arm with his free hand as he took the brown jug, to express resentment in moderation. But he answered his questioner: "Round in Sappses Court beyont the Dials acrost Oxford Street keepin' to your left off Tottenham Court Road. You come to see for a widder, and there warn't no widder for yer. Mean to say there was?" "Where I sent you, Mr. Wix," said Miss Julia.
He addressed a creature that was hanging upside down on some railings, apparently by choice. "What sort of a name does this here archway go by?" said he, without acute curiosity. "That's Sappses Court," said the creature, remaining inverted. "Say it ain't?" He appeared to identify the uniform he was addressing, and added: "There ain't a fire down that Court, 'cos I knows and I'm a telling of yer.
"They'll marry again with the rattle in their throats." That tart was in the oven, and had to be remembered. Or else Aunt Elizabeth Jane wanted to see no more of Mr. Wix. "I must be running back to my cooking," said she. "But if this gentleman goes again to find out Sappses, he's only got to ask for my niece at Number One, or Mrs. Wardle at Number Seven, and he'll find Mrs. Prichard easy."
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