'Aggrawatin' thing!' said the vixenish lady last-mentioned,
darting a withering glance at the heavy gentleman.
'My dear, it's not my fault,' said the gentleman.
'Don't talk to me, you creetur, don't,' retorted the lady. 'The
house with the red door, cabmin. Oh! If ever a woman was
troubled with a ruffinly creetur, that takes a pride and a pleasure
in disgracing his wife on every possible occasion afore strangers,
I am that woman!'
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Raddle,' said the other
little woman, who was no other than Mrs. Cluppins.
'What have I been a-doing of?' asked Mr. Raddle.
'Don't talk to me, don't, you brute, for fear I should be
perwoked to forgit my sect and strike you!' said Mrs. Raddle.
While this dialogue was going on, the driver was most
ignominiously leading the horse, by the bridle, up to the house
with the red door, which Master Bardell had already opened.
Here was a mean and low way of arriving at a friend's house!
No dashing up, with all the fire and fury of the animal; no
jumping down of the driver; no loud knocking at the door; no
opening of the apron with a crash at the very last moment, for
fear of the ladies sitting in a draught; and then the man handing
the shawls out, afterwards, as if he were a private coachman!
The whole edge of the thing had been taken off--it was flatter
than walking.
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