Artists -- Fiction; British -- France -- Paris -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"I'd as lief talk as read, myself," said a red-faced sandy-haired
woman; "books ain't what they was in my young days."
"If it's the same to you, Miss," said Mrs. Symes in a thick rich
voice, "I'll not be tried on afore a room full. If we are poor we can
all be clean's what I say, and I keeps my unders as I keeps my
outside. But not before persons as has real imitation lace on their
petticoat bodies. I see them when I was a-nursing her with her fourth.
No, Miss, and thanking you kindly, but begging your pardon all the
same."
"Don't mention it," said Betty absently. "Oh, Mrs. Smith, you can't
have lost your thimble already. Why what's that you've got in your
mouth?"
"So it is!" Mrs. Smith's face beamed at the gratifying coincidence. "It
always was my habit, from a child, to put things there for safety."
"These cheap thimbles ain't fit to put in your mouth, no more than
coppers," said Mrs. James, her mouth full of pins.
"Oh, nothing hurts you if you like it," said Betty recklessly. She had
been reading the works of Mr. G.K. Chesterton.
A shocked murmur arose.
"Oh, Miss, what about the publy kows?" said Mrs. Symes heavily. The
others nodded acquiescence.
"Don't you think we might have a window open?" said Betty. The May
sunshine beat on the schoolroom windows. The room, crowded with the
stout members of the "Mother's Meeting and Mutual Clothing Club," was
stuffy, unbearable.
A murmur arose far more shocked than the first.
"I was just a-goin' to say why not close the door, that being what
doors is made for, after all," said Mrs. Symes. "I feel a sort of
draught a-creeping up my legs as it is."
The door was shut.
"You can't be too careful," said the red-faced woman; "we never know
what a chill mayn't bring forth. My cousin's sister-in-law, she had
twins, and her aunt come in and says she, 'You're a bit stuffy here,
ain't you?' and with that she opens the window a crack,--not meaning
no harm, Miss,--as it might be you. And within a year that poor
unfortunate woman she popped off, when least expected. Gas ulsters,
the doctor said. Which it's what you call chills, if you're a doctor
and can't speak plain."
"My poor grandmother come to her end the same way," said Mrs. Smith,
"only with her it was the Bible reader as didn't shut the door through
being so set on shewing off her reading. And my granny, a clot of
blood went to her brain, and her brain went to her head and she was a
corpse inside of fifty minutes."
Every woman in the room was waiting, feverishly alert, for the pause
that should allow her to begin her own detailed narrative of disease.
Mrs. James was easily first in the competition.
"Them quick deaths," she said, "is sometimes a blessing in disguise to
both parties concerned. My poor husband--years upon years he lingered,
and he had a bad leg--talk of bad legs, I wish you could all have seen
it," she added generously.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account