The narration at Mr. Polly’s elbow pursued a quiet but relentless course. “Directly the new doctor came in he said: ’Everything must be took out and put in spirits—everything.’”
Willie,—audible ingurgitation.
The narration on the left was flourishing up to a climax. “Ladies,” she sez, “dip their pens in their ink and keep their noses out of it!”
“Elfrid!”—persuasively.
“Certain people may cast snacks at other people’s daughters, never having had any of their own, though two poor souls of wives dead and buried through their goings on—”
Johnson ruling the storm: “We don’t want old scores dug up on such a day as this—”
“Old scores you may call them, but worth a dozen of them that put them to their rest, poor dears.”
“Elfrid!”—with a note of remonstrance.
“If you choke yourself, my lord, not another mouthful do you ’ave. No nice puddin’! Nothing!”
“And kept us in, she did, every afternoon for a week!”