How could we ever forget Miss Prickett, with her crinoline bells and red brocades, and her raised suspicious eyebrows, and her little porcine eyes?
I suppose that, should I meet with her today, I should pity her: if only for her furious complexion and her sly love of the bottle, which was soon to undermine her iron rule.
I heard she married late in life, after leaving our family’s employment, and that she maintained an alehouse. But one can only wonder about the profits, if profits there were; unless she discovered Jesus and took the pledge.
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