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Excerpt: ...standing above her reasoned that if a word of reproof or advice was to be given there was not much time to lose
Often, from open door to open door (for the pair inhabited a double dwelling), often, across the garden fence, she had called aloud her opinion of her neighbour''s goings on; she would seize the opportunity to give it once again. And why ain''t yer Dora like a labourer''s gal, then? she demanded, shrilly accusing. Oh, Mis'' Green! Don''t yu, a-layin'' there o'' your deathbed, know right well the why and the wherefore? Ha''n''t yu borrered right and left, ha''n''t you got inter debt high and low, to put a hape o'' finery on yer mawther''s back? Ha''n''t yu moiled yerself, an'' yu a dyin'' woman, over her hid o'' hair? Put her i'' my Gladus''s clo''es, an'' see what yer Dora ''ud look like. Har, wi'' her coloured shues, an'' all! They was giv'' her, the dying woman faintly protested. Her Uncle Willum sent them brown uns along of her brown hat wi'' th'' welwet bow. Now, ain''t yu a-lyin'', Mis'' Green, as yu lay there o'' yer deathbed? Them tales may ha'' flung dust i'' th'' eyes o'' yer old man, them i'' my hid is too sharp for no sech a story. Di''n''t I see th'' name o'' ''Bunn o'' Wotton'' on th'' bag th'' hat come out of? An'' don''t yer brother Willum live i'' London, and ha''n''t he got seven of''s own to look arter? Ter think as I sh''d come ter pass ter say sich wards, an'' yu a-layin'' there a-dyin''! Ain''t yer ashamed o'' yerself, Mis'' Green. I''m a-askin'' of yer th'' question; ain''t yer ashamed o'' yerself? No, an'' ain''t, said Mrs Green, feebly whispering. Beneath the flickering, bruised-looking lids, tears slowly oozed. The neighbour felt for a pocket-handkerchief under the pillow, and wiped them away. Fact o'' th'' matter, Mis'' Green, she inflexibly pursued her subject, yu ha'' made a raglar idle o'' that gal; yu ha'' put a sight o'' finery on ''er back, an'' stuffed ''er hid wi'' notions; an'' wha''s a-goin ter become on...
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