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‘Tilly!’ said John to his lady, who was reclining half awake and
half asleep upon a sofa.

‘Well, John!’
‘Well, John!’ retorted her husband, impatiently. ‘Dost thou feel
hoongry, lass?’

‘Not very,’ said Mrs Browdie.
‘Not vary!’ repeated John, raising his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Hear
her say not vary, and us dining at three, and loonching off pasthry
thot aggravates a mon ’stead of pacifying him! Not vary!’

‘Here’s a gen’l’man for you, sir,’ said the waiter, looking in.
‘A wa’at for me?’ cried John, as though he thought it must be a
letter, or a parcel.

‘A gen’l’man, sir.’
‘Stars and garthers, chap!’ said John, ‘wa’at dost thou coom and
say thot for? In wi’ ’un.’

‘Are you at home, sir?’
‘At whoam!’ cried John, ‘I wish I wur; I’d ha tea’d two hour ago.
Why, I told t’oother chap to look sharp ootside door, and tell ’un
d’rectly he coom, thot we war faint wi’ hoonger. In wi’ ’un. Aha!
Thee hond, Misther Nickleby. This is nigh to be the proodest day
o’ my life, sir. Hoo be all wi’ ye? Ding! But, I’m glod o’ this!’

Quite forgetting even his hunger in the heartiness of his
salutation, John Browdie shook Nicholas by the hand again and
again, slapping his palm with great violence between each shake,
to add warmth to the reception.

‘Ah! there she be,’ said John, observing the look which Nicholas
directed towards his wife. ‘There she be--we shan’t quarrel about
her noo--eh? Ecod, when I think o’ thot--but thou want’st soom’at
to eat. Fall to, mun, fall to, and for wa’at we’re aboot to receive--’

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