Why, all that time when he used to come breakfasting with Mr
Pontifex morning after morning, it took me to a perfect shadow the way he
carried on. There was no doing anything to please him right. First I
used to get them eggs and bacon, and he didn't like that; and then I got
him a bit of fish, and he didn't like that, or else it was too dear, and
you know fish is dearer than ever; and then I got him a bit of German,
and he said it rose on him; then I tried sausages, and he said they hit
him in the eye worse even than German; oh! how I used to wander my room
and fret about it inwardly and cry for hours, and all about them paltry
breakfasts--and it wasn't Mr Pontifex; he'd like anything that anyone
chose to give him.
"And so the piano's to go," she continued. "What beautiful tunes Mr
Pontifex did play upon it, to be sure; and there was one I liked better
than any I ever heard. I was in the room when he played it once and when
I said, 'Oh, Mr Pontifex, that's the kind of woman I am,' he said, 'No,
Mrs Jupp, it isn't, for this tune is old, but no one can say you are
old.' But, bless you, he meant nothing by it, it was only his mucky
flattery.
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