She was thoroughly accustomed
to the supreme spectacles of birth and death, and could assist
thereat with dignity and skill. She could turn away the wrath of
rent-collectors, rate-collectors, school-inspectors, and magistrates.
She was an adept in enticing an inebriated husband to leave a
public-house. She could feed four children for a day on sevenpence,
and rise calmly to her feet after having been knocked down by one
stroke of a fist. She could go without food, sleep, and love, and yet
thrive. She could give when she had nothing, and keep her heart sweet
amid every contagion. Lastly, she could coax extra sixpences out of
a pawnbroker. She had never had a holiday, and almost never failed in
her duty. Her one social fault was a tendency to talk at great length
about babies, corpses, and the qualities of rival soaps. All her
children were married. Her husband had gone in a box to a justice
whose anger Mrs. Tam's simple tongue might not soothe. She lived
alone. Six half-days a week she worked about the house of Mrs.
Maldon from eight to one o'clock, for a shilling per half-day and her
breakfast. But if she chose to stay for it she could have dinner--and
a good one--on condition that she washed up afterwards.
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