"Oh! thank you; I think I will walk then."
Cabby retires muttering a few sentences unintelligible to me. Only one word constantly occurring in his harangue can I remember.
I open my pocket-dictionary.
Good heavens! What have I said to the man? What has he taken me for? Have I used words conveying to his mind any intention of mine to take his precious life? Do I look ferocious? Why did he repeatedly call me sanguinaire? Must have this mystery cleared up.
10th July, 1872.
An English friend sets my mind at rest about the little event of yesterday. He informs me that the adjective in question carries no meaning. It is simply a word that the lower classes have to place before each substantive they use in order to be able to understand each other.
11th July, 1872.
[ Have ] taken apartments in the neighborhood of Baker Street. My landlady, qui frise ses cheveux et la cinquantaine, enjoys the name of Tribble. She is a plump, tidy, and active-looking little woman.
On the door there is a plate, with the inscription,