“The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. As to his mother, I've no pity for her. The movement was fatal to her son. After all, why need one look down. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. “You must pack for me.
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