— How goes it now, Mrs Gamp?
— Ooh, Mr Mould, I never been so frightened of a night and that’s the throof! Why — and I say this compellentially — only last night I seen ‘im again, large as life, and a jellied eel on his platter!
— A jellied eel, Mrs Gamp?
— Big one, Mr Mould. Ooh, tremendous proportions! If I didn’t ‘ave my — you know — flagon o’ comfort, I should be stretched out by now in Highgate’s whispering vale — hopefully wiv your own kind administrations, Mr Mould.
— Yes, hopefully, Mrs Gamp. Well, good day.
— Good day, Mr Mould, and my bestest compelliments to Mrs Mould, as fine a lady as ever wore curl-papers, Sir, ain’t it the throof?