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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Es, my Lard," Joe would reply to me, and transfer the command in Danish to the waiter. "Hock, waiter; bring some hock." "Suttinlee, my Lard," said Joe to P.; then coming up to the table, and, leaning confidentially over it, observed. "Me would recumdate, my Lard, de Bunseppalouse, it bery good wine, cumsiddumrately dan de hock." "How do you know; have you tasted it?" said R.
"No, my Lard; me only go by de smell him bery rifferous, bery, my Lard;" and Joe sniffed till the steam from the vegetables rushed up his nostrils. "I say," R called out to Joe, as he was disappearing over the threshold in search of the Bunseppalouse, "you black pudding, you; what do you mean by my Lard? can't you pronounce your O's? what do you with your A's, when you meet them?"
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