‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. . '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men.
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