With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. . Thank goodness you’ll understand. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. Diane replied, “Is there something wrong with that, Michelle? This is my house too, you know. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders.
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