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Updated: June 1, 2025
But she could not look at his face while these things were weighing out their balance in her mind. It seemed hard enough to be compelled to listen to the sound of his voice; the weak, uncertain quality that it possessed, that faint suggestion of commonness which did not exactly admit of dropped aitches, but rang jarringly in her ears. "I'm listening," she said rigidly.
"Does he does he by any chance drop his aitches?" "Kitty, he does." "Then Lucy, dear child, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair " "Don't. That little man is on my mind." "I shouldn't let him stop there too long, if I were you. He might refuse to get on." "I must do something for him, and I must do it now. What can I do?" "Not much, I imagine." "I I think I'll ask him to dinner."
He sneered at Philip because he was better educated than himself, and he mocked at Philip's pronunciation; he could not forgive him because he spoke without a cockney accent, and when he talked to him sarcastically exaggerated his aitches.
You see, for one thing, he sometimes drops his aitches." "Well, if he does, he'll be out all day, and there's the open country to drop them in. I really don't mind, if you'd like to ask him. Do you think he'd like to be asked?" "There's no possible doubt about that." "Then ask him. Ask him now. You can't do it when father's not at home." Jewdwine repressed a smile.
Peedles became more arch, Jarman's Scotch more striking and extensive, the Lady 'Ortensia's remarks less depressingly genteel, her aitches less accentuated. Jarman rose to propose the health of the O'Kelly, coupled with that of the Signora. To the O'Kelly, in a burst of generosity, Jarman promised our united patronage.
It seemed to John that all these Cottenham shops dropped their aitches!... The clouds were grey when he arrived in Cottenham, dirty-grey and very cheerless; they were still dirty-grey when he went to the theatre, and rain fell before he reached it; and the clouds remained in that dismal state until he quitted Cottenham after the first performance of Milchu and St. Patrick: A Tragedy.
See wot I mean?" I said that I did. "An' another thing; talk like 'em." I confessed that this might prove to be rather a large contract. "'Ard? S'y! 'Ere! If I 'ad you fer a d'y, I'd 'ave you talkin' like a born Lunnoner! All you got to do is forget all them aitches. An' you don't want to s'y 'can't, like that. S'y 'cawrn't." I said it. "Now s'y, 'Gor blimy, 'Arry, 'ow's the missus?" I did.
"Has he been trying any more experiments in diminished friction on polished surfaces?" "No; there was a good deal more repose about him after you left. The friction was decidedly diminished. What do you think of him?" "Oh, I rather like the way he drops his aitches. It gives a pathetic piquancy to his conversation." "Don't Kitty." "I won't.
He was still in the choir of Morley Chapel not very regular. He belonged just because he had a tenor voice, and enjoyed singing. Indeed his solos were only spoilt to local fame because when he sang he handled his aitches so hopelessly. 'And I saw 'eaven hopened And be'old, a wite 'orse-'
I can't," he said, "go on giving that dear old clergyman clergyman's sore throat. I frighten him so that he can't sing. He doesn't know what to do with me, or say to me. He doesn't know what to call me. He can't call me Jevons, and he won't call me Jimmy, and he knows it would be ridiculous to call me James. Besides, he agitates me and makes me drop my aitches. "So I've had a wire.
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