Goodenough of
London. who had been her father's private pupil, and of his college
afterwards, who sent his patients from time to time down to her, and his
fellow-physician, Dr. H----, who on his part would never take any fee
from Miss Honeyman, except a packet of India curry-powder, a ham cured as
she only knew how to cure them, and once a year, or so, a dish of her
tea.
"Was there ever such luck as that confounded old Duchess's?" says Mr.
Gawler, coal-merchant and lodging-house keeper, next door but two, whose
apartments were more odious in some respects than Mrs. Bugsby's own. "Was
there ever such devil's own luck, Mrs. G.? It's only a fortnight ago as I
read in the Sussex Advertiser the death of Miss Barkham, of Barkhambury,
Tunbridge Wells, and thinks I, there's a spoke in your wheel, you
stuck-up little old Duchess, with your cussed airs and impudence. And she
ain't put her card up three days; and look yere, yere's two carriages,
two maids, three children, one of them wrapped up in a Hinjar shawl--man
hout a livery,--looks like a foring cove I think--lady in satin pelisse,
and of course they go to the Duchess, be hanged to her! Of course it's
our luck, nothing ever was like our luck.
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