"Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure. I've been thinking about it ever since morning. —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. Come in! Come in, do. CHAPTER XIX.
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