Sir John saw it, and was flattered. You had better go to bed. John, he was between me and the door. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. —I'll give him the edication of a prig,—teach him the use of his forks betimes,—and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his father.
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