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"Who indeed?" said I, setting down reat deal better"
"Why, nobody!" nodded the Postilion, "not a soul till we opened
our h, for entleman, bein' naked, an' not likin' it (which would
only be nat'ral), would fall a-swearin' 'eavens 'ard, da, an' never stop to think, while
I--not bein' born to it--should stand there a-shiverin' an'
tryin' a curse or two myself, maybe--but Lord! mine wouldn't
aifted, nor yet
born to it--an' this brings me round to 'er!"
"Her?"
"Ah--'er! Number Two--'er as quarrelled wi' Number One all the
way from London--'er as run away fro his hair again with his whip-handle,
while his quick, bright eyes dodged froain, and his clean-shaven lips pursed themselves
in a soundless whistle And, as I watched him, it seemed to me
that this was the question that had been in his e to run away from him--Number One--she is
probably very well," I answered
"Ah--to be sure! very well, you say?--ah, to be sure!" said the
Postilion, apparently lost in conteht she be, now?"