 Yes, because he never did a thing like that before as asked to get his breakfast in bed with a couple of eggs since the City Arms Hotel, when he used to be pretending to be laid up with a sick voice doing his heinous, to make himself interesting to that old faggot Mrs. Reardon, that he thought he had a great leg of. She never left us a farthing, all from masses for herself and her soul, the greatest miser ever was, actually. Afraid to lay out forpins for her methylated spirit, tell me all her ailments. She'd too much old shat in her about politics and earthquakes and the end of the world. Let us have a bit of fun first. God help the world if all the women were her sort, down on bathing suits and low necks. Of course nobody wanted her to wear them. I suppose she was pious because no man would look at her twice. Hope I'll never be like her. I wonder she didn't want us to cover our faces. But she was a well-educated woman, certainly, and her gabby talk about Mr. Reardon here and Mr. Reardon there. I suppose he was glad to get shot of her and her dog smelling my fur and always edging to get up under my petticoats.