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"Mistoo Itchlin, seein' as 'tis you, a puffic gen'leman, 'oo is not goin' to 'efuse that satisfagtion w'at a gen'leman, always a-'eady to give a gen'leman, I bid you faw the pwesen' good-evenin', seh!" He walked away. Richling stood in his tracks dumfounded, crushed.
"Why but that isn't good news, then." Narcisse gave his head a bright, argumentative twitch. "Yesseh. 'Tis t'ue he 'efuse'; but ad the same time I dunno I thing he wasn' so mad about it as he make out. An' you know thass one thing, Mistoo Itchlin, whilce they got life they got hope; and hence I ente'tain the same."
He coughed and laughed and moved aside to a pillar and coughed, until people looked at him, and lifted his eyes, tired but smiling, and, paying his compliments to the paroxysm in one or two ill-wishes, wiped his eyes at last, and said: "And the Doctor augmented you?" "Well, no, I can't say that not p'ecisely." "Why, what did he do?" "Well, he 'efuse' me, in fact."
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