'I think I
ought to tell you now,' she continued, 'that Meg's no more ill of
dropsy than I am; she could walk twenty miles off the reel; there
ain't a bullock in England half as strong as Meg; she's shamming.'
'Shamming, but why?'
'Well, she ain't drunk; ever since the Beauty died she's never
touched a drop o' gin. But she's turned quite cranky. She's got it
into her head that the relations of the Beauty are going to send her
to prison for kidnapping; and she thinks that every one that comes
near her is a policeman in plain clothes. She's just lying in bed to
keep herself out of the way till she starts.'
'Where's she going, then?'
'She talks about going to see after her son Bob in the country; her
husband is a Welshman. He's over the water.'
'Did you say she had given up drinking?' I asked.
'Yes; she seemed to dote on the Beauty, and when the Beauty died she
said, "My darter went wrong through me drinkin', and my son Bob went
wrong through me drinkin'; and I feel somehow that it was through my
drinkin' that I lost the Beauty; and never will you find me touch
another drop o' gin, Poll.
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