mite. Well? What do you expect her to do? Must wheedle her way along.
Widower I hate to see. Looks so forlorn.
Poor man O’Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. The sewage. Hopeless.
Some good matronly woman in a porkpie hat to mother him. Take him in tow, platter face and a large apron.
Ladies’ grey flanelette bloomers, three shillings a pair, astonishing bargain.
Plain and loved, loved for ever, they say. Ugly: no woman thinks she is. Love, lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die.
See him sometimes walking about trying to find out who played the trick. U. p. : up. Fate that is. He, not me.
Also a shop often noticed. Curse seems to dog it.
Dreamt last night? Wait. Something confused. She had red slippers on. Turkish. Wore the breeches. Suppose she does. Would I like her in pyjamas? Damned