Boardinghouses -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Victoria, 1837-1901 -- Fiction; Widows -- Fiction
But my dear the blueness and the lightness and the coloured look of
everything and the very sentry-boxes striped and the shining rattling
drums and the little soldiers with their waists and tidy gaiters, when we
got across to the Continent--it made me feel as if I don't know what--as
if the atmosphere had been lifted off me. And as to lunch why bless you
if I kept a man-cook and two kitchen-maids I couldn't got it done for
twice the money, and no injured young woman a glaring at you and grudging
you and acknowledging your patronage by wishing that your food might
choke you, but so civil and so hot and attentive and every way
comfortable except Jemmy pouring wine down his throat by tumblers-full
and me expecting to see him drop under the table.
And the way in which Jemmy spoke his French was a real charm. It was
often wanted of him, for whenever anybody spoke a syllable to me I says
"Non-comprenny, you're very kind, but it's no use--Now Jemmy!" and then
Jemmy he fires away at 'em lovely, the only thing wanting in Jemmy's
French being as it appeared to me that he hardly ever understood a word
of what they said to him which made it scarcely of the use it might have
been though in other respects a perfect Native, and regarding the Major's
fluency I should have been of the opinion judging French by English that
there might have been a greater choice of words in the language though
still I must admit that if I hadn't known him when he asked a military
gentleman in a gray cloak what o'clock it was I should have took him for
a Frenchman born.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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