Nothing offers these days but squabblings between Mrs. Jewkes and me.
She grows worse and worse to me. I vexed her yesterday, because she
talked nastily; and told her she talked more like a vile London
prostitute, than a gentleman's housekeeper; and she thinks she cannot use
me bad enough for it. Bless me! she curses and storms at me like a
trooper, and can hardly keep her hands off me. You may believe she must
talk sadly, to make me say such harsh words: indeed it cannot be
repeated; as she is a disgrace to her sex. And then she ridicules me,
and laughs at my notions of honesty; and tells me, impudent creature as
she is! what a fine bed-fellow I shall make for my master (and such-
like), with such whimsical notions about me!--Do you think this is to be
borne? And yet she talks worse than this, if possible! quite filthily!
O what vile hands am I put into!
Thursday.
I have now all the reason that can be, to apprehend my master will be
here soon; for the servants are busy in setting the house to rights; and
a stable and coach-house are cleaning out, that have not been used some
time. I asked Mrs. Jewkes; but she tells me nothing, nor will hardly
answer me when I ask her a question. Sometimes I think she puts on these
strange wicked airs to me, purposely to make me wish for, what I dread
most of all things, my master's coming down.
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