Bessie Marchant,
The Youngest Sister: A Tale of Manitoba
“ It is this dreadful stoutness that is so aging,” said Mrs. Walford, with a second blowing gasp, which reminded Bertha of an engine letting off steam. “Forty-five, I am, and not a week more, for my birthday was the day before yesterday; and, I am sure, to look at, anyone might well take me for sixty. I tell Walford sometimes that I will go in for some of those patent medicines that are advertised for reducing the figure. Then he laughs at me, and offers to swop jobs for a few weeks; for, as he says, a mounted policeman has no use for fat, and certainly he can’t keep it.” ”
