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"Like Old Brownsmith's toolips," said Shock, laughing. "I say, should we come up?" "Don't talk like that," I said angrily. "Don't you understand that we are buried alive." "Course I do," he said. "Well, what on it?" "What of it?" I said in agony, as the perspiration stood upon my brow. "Yes, what on it? They'll dig us out like we do the taters out of a clamp. What's the good o' being in a wax.
So when we arrived at the place where they were talking together, I heard the dreadful man say, "Judge o' th' land! He ain't much of a judge o' th' land to tear my flowers to pieces like that. Look at these 'ere toolips." The marshal explained how that it was for the improvement of Sir Henry Hawkins's health that a little fresh air was taken every morning.
"Run you down to the cap'n's lodgings," said he, handing me the key, "an' tell him to go straight an' unlock the cupboard in the cornder the one wi' the toolips painted over the door. You know it? Well, say that on the second shelf he'll find a small bagful o' money he needn't stay to count it an' 'pon the same shelf, right back in the cornder, a roll o' papers.
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