Among those whom Ida called upon this afternoon was an old woman
who, in addition to her own voluminous troubles, was always in a
position to give a _compte-rendu_ of the general distress of the
neighbourhood. People had discovered that her eloquence could be
profitably made use of in their own service, and not infrequently,
when speaking with Ida, she was in reality holding a brief from this
or that neighbour, marked, not indeed in guineas, but in "twos" of
strong beverage, obtainable at her favourite house of call. To-day
she held such a brief, and was more than usually urgent in the
representation of a deserving case.
"Oh, Miss Woodstock, mem, there's a poor young 'oman a-lyin' at the
Clock 'Ouse, as it really makes one's 'art bleed to tell of her! For
all she's so young, she's a widder, an' pr'aps it's as well she
should be, seein' how shockin' her 'usband treated her afore he was
took where no doubt he's bein' done as he did by. It's fair cruel,
Miss Woodstock, mem, to see her sufferin's. She has fits, an' falls
down everywheres; it's a mercy as she 'asn't been run over in the
public street long ago. They're hepiplectic fits, I'm told, an' laws
o' me! the way she foams at the mouth! No doubt as they was brought
on by her 'usband's etrocious treatment.
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