Sairey, why not go to Margate for a week, bring
your constitution up with srimps, and come back to them loving arts
as knows and wallies you, blooming? Sairey,' Mrs. Harris says,
'you are but poorly. Don't denige it, Mrs. Gamp, for books is in
your looks. You must have rest. Your mind,' she says, 'is too
strong for you; it gets you down and treads upon you, Sairey. It is
useless to disguige the fact--the blade is a wearing out the
sheets.' 'Mrs. Harris,' I says to her, 'I could not undertake to
say, and I will not deceive you ma'am, that I am not the woman I
could wish to be. The time of worrit as I had with Mrs. Colliber,
the baker's lady, which was so bad in her mind with her first, that
she would not so much as look at bottled stout, and kept to gruel
through the month, has agued me, Mrs. Harris. But, ma'am,' I says
to her, 'talk not of Margate, for if I do go anywhere it is
elsewheres, and not there.' 'Sairey,' says Mrs. Harris solemn,
'whence this mystery? If I have ever deceived the hardest-working,
soberest, and best of women, mention it.' ... 'Mrs. Harris, then,'
I says, 'I have heard as there is an expedition going down to
Manjester and Liverpool a playacting, If I goes anywhere for change
it is along with that.
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