Peckaby some little work to remedy.
"The brute!" she ejaculated, putting her foot into the slop on the
floor, and taking a general view of things. "Oh, if I was but off!"
"My patience, what a mess!" exclaimed Polly Dawson, who happened to be
going by, and turned in for a gossip. "Whatever have done it?"
"Whatever have done it? why that wretch Peckaby," retorted the aggrieved
wife. "Don't you never get married, Polly Dawson, if you want to keep on
the right side of the men. They be the worst animals in all creation.
Many a poor woman's life has been aggrivated out of her."
"If I do get married, I shan't begin the aggrivation by wanting to be
off to them saints at New Jerusalem," impudently returned Polly Dawson.
Mrs. Peckaby received it meekly. What with the long-continued
disappointment, the perpetual "aggrivations" of Peckaby, and the
prospect of work before her, arising from the gratuitous pail of water,
she was feeling unusually cowed down.
"I wish I was a hundred mile off," she cried. "Nobody's fate was never
so hard as mine."
"It'll take you a good two hours to redd up," observed Polly Dawson.
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