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Wellesley Gough's Bad Bargains. Oh, isn't he clever? Hastings Clive. Jou, you haremzeada! Bukri na munkta, nimuk-aram! The Hon. Wellesley Gough. My love, he says now, "Get out, you good-for-nothing rascal! I don't want that goat here." The Hon. Mrs. Wellesley Gough. Oh, isn't he clever?
By 5 October they had secured the crossing of the Tcherna at Brod, and slowly they pushed across it. Bad weather delayed them for a month, but by 15 November Mishitch had mastered the river bend from Iven to Bukri; and, thus outflanked on their left, the enemy yielded to the Franco-Russian attacks on Kenali and retreated to the Bistritza, four miles from Monastir.
"Soono, you sooa, loom kis-wasti omara bukri not bring?" says Hastings Clive, whose English is apt to figure among his Hindostanee like Brahmins in a regiment of Sepoys, that is, one Brahmin to every twenty low-caste fellows. The Hon. Mrs. Wellesley Gough. Wellesley dear, do listen to that darling Hastings Clive, how sweetly he prattles! What did he say then?
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