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The man who thought Simpson’s system lacked science rubbed his hands in delight. "She took the trick all right; swept his hand clean off the board!" The Encounter Simpson, from the seat to which he had been so rapidly transplanted, looked about him with blinking anxiety.
“The editors of the last edition would have given any money for it, had it been known to have existed.” After fruitless endeavours “to find for it a resting place in some public or private library in America, and subsequently in the British Museum,” Mr. Stevens sent it to Puttick & Simpson’s Auction Rooms, where it was knocked down to Sir Henry Phillipps for £44.
On one occasion, Borrow showed a one-eyed beggar into his master’s private room, and installed him in an armchair “like a justice of the peace.” At another time, when invited to Mr. Simpson’s house, he electrified a learned archdeacon and the company generally by maintaining that his favourite Ab Gwilym was a better poet than Ovid, and that many of the classic writers were greatly over-valued.
He got into some trouble down to Rawlins—shot a man he thought was with Simpson, but who wasn’t—and he’s been in jail ever since. Course now that he’s out Simpson’s bound to get peppered. Glad it didn’t happen here, though. ’Twould be a kind of unpleasant thing to have connected with a eating-house, don’t you think so?" she inquired, with the grim philosophy of the country.
Some three or four of the boys now ran to Simpson’s former seat at the table and rushed towards him with his half-eaten breakfast, as if the errand had been one of life and death.
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