XXVII
1 min to read 83 words
⸺This unfortunate drawbridge of yours, quoth my father⸺God bless your honour, cried Trim, ’tis a bridge for master’s nose.⸺In bringing him into the world with his vile instruments, he has crushed his nose, Susannah says, as flat as a pancake to his face, and he is making a false bridge with a piece of cotton and a thin piece of whalebone out of Susannah’s stays, to raise it up.
⸺Lead me, brother Toby, cried my father, to my room this instant.
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XXVIII
1 min to read 216 words
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