"Bother your camels, and your crokydiles too!" retorted Mrs. Prig, with indifference. "Wy, Sairey, wot a tempest in a teapot, to be sure!"
Mrs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and indignation. "Wot!" she with difficulty ejaculated. "A—tempest—in—a—Teapot!! And does Betsey Prig, my pardner for so many years, call her friend a Teapot, and decline to take up Sairey's righteous quarrel with a Mrs. Harris?"
Then Mrs. Prig, smiling more scornfully, and folding her arms still tighter, uttered these memorable and tremendous words,—
"Wy, certainly she does, Sairey Gamp; most certainly she does. Wich I don't believe there's either rhyme or reason in sech an absurd quarrel!" After the utterance of which expressions she leaned forward, and snapped her fingers, and then rose to put on her bonnet, as one who felt that there was now a gulf between them which nothing could ever bridge across.
THE PATIENT AT PLAY.
Adviser. Have you ever been present at a performance of The Dead Heart?
Patient. No; and I know nothing of a Tale of Two Cities.
A. Then surely you are well acquainted with All for Her?
P. I regret to reply in the negative.