That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. “I want to know who you are. I came to beg you instead to do me the honour of becoming my wife. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out of the room it lies down on the mat at the door. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr.
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