A meeting

— 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?



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