'Ah!' repeated Mrs Gamp; for it was always a safe sentiment in cases of
mourning. 'Ah dear! When Gamp was summoned to his long home, and I see
him a-lying in Guy's Hospital with a penny-piece on each eye, and his
wooden leg under his left arm, I thought I should have fainted away. But
I bore up.'

If certain whispers current in the Kingsgate Street circles had any
truth in them, she had indeed borne up surprisingly; and had exerted
such uncommon fortitude as to dispose of Mr Gamp's remains for the
benefit of science. But it should be added, in fairness, that this had
happened twenty years before; and that Mr and Mrs Gamp had long been
separated on the ground of incompatibility of temper in their drink.

'You have become indifferent since then, I suppose?' said Mr Pecksniff.
'Use is second nature, Mrs Gamp.'

'You may well say second nater, sir,' returned that lady. 'One's first
ways is to find sich things a trial to the feelings, and so is one's
lasting custom. If it wasn't for the nerve a little sip of liquor gives
me (I never was able to do more than taste it), I never could go through
with what I sometimes has to do. "Mrs Harris," I says, at the very last
case as ever I acted in, which it was but a young person, "Mrs Harris,"
I says, "leave the bottle on the chimley-piece, and don't ask me to take
none, but let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged, and then I
will do what I'm engaged to do, according to the best of my ability."
"Mrs Gamp," she says, in answer, "if ever there was a sober creetur to
be got at eighteen pence a day for working people, and three and six for
gentlefolks--night watching,"' said Mrs Gamp with emphasis, '"being a
extra charge--you are that inwallable person." "Mrs Harris," I says to
her, "don't name the charge, for if I could afford to lay all my feller
creeturs out for nothink, I would gladly do it, sich is the love I bears
'em. But what I always says to them as has the management of matters,
Mrs Harris"'--here she kept her eye on Mr Pecksniff--'"be they gents or
be they ladies, is, don't ask me whether I won't take none, or whether I
will, but leave the bottle on the chimley-piece, and let me put my lips
to it when I am so dispoged."'

The conclusion of this affecting narrative brought them to the house. In
the passage they encountered Mr Mould the undertaker; a little elderly
gentleman, bald, and in a suit of black; with a notebook in his hand,
a massive gold watch-chain dangling