David Copperfield by Charles Dickens Chapter 8 Page 12

my mother tried to pull it away, and sat as if her head were in a bag.

‘What are you doing, you stupid creature?’ said my mother, laughing.

‘Oh, drat the man!’ cried Peggotty. ‘He wants to marry me.’

‘It would be a very good match for you; wouldn’t it?’ said my mother.

‘Oh! I don’t know,’ said Peggotty. ‘Don’t ask me. I wouldn’t have him if he was made of gold.

Nor I wouldn’t have anybody.’

‘Then, why don’t you tell him so, you ridiculous thing?’ said my mother.

‘Tell him so,’ retorted Peggotty, looking out of her apron.