I donna want to set eyes on the whittaws again; I wish I may never stir if I do." "Mr.Ottley's, indeed! It's fine talking o' what you did at Mr.
Ottley's.

Your missis there might like her floors dirted wi' whittaws for what I know.

There's no knowing what people WONNA like--such ways as I've heard of! I never had a gell come into my house as seemed to know what cleaning was; I think people live like pigs, for my part.

And as to that Betty as was dairymaid at Trent's before she come to me, she'd ha' left the cheeses without turning from week's end to week's end, and the dairy thralls, I might ha' wrote my name on 'em, when I come downstairs after my illness, as the doctor said it was inflammation--it was a mercy I got well of it.

And to think o' your knowing no better, Molly, and been here a-going i' nine months, and not for want o' talking to, neither--and what are you stanning there for, like a jack as is run down, instead o' getting your wheel out?
You're a rare un for sitting down to your work a little while after it's time to put by." "Munny, my iron's twite told; pease put it down to warm." The small chirruping voice that uttered this request came from a little sunny-haired girl between three and four, who, seated on a high chair at the end of the ironing table, was arduously clutching the handle of a miniature iron with her tiny fat fist, and ironing rags with an assiduity that required her to put her little red tongue out as far as anatomy would allow.
"Cold, is it, my darling?
Bless your sweet face!" said Mrs.Poyser, who was remarkable for the facility with which she could relapse from her official objurgatory to one of fondness or of friendly converse.