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Updated: May 19, 2025
"My farver's there awaitin' for me." "Garn!" said the man; "you don't kid me so easy." "I ain't arstin' you for anything except the way," said Dickie. "More you ain't," said the man, hesitated, and pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Ain't kiddin'? Sure? Father at Gravesend? Take your Bible?" "Yuss," said Dickie.
It was so unexpected that there was an involuntary lull in the proceedings. "Tom!" She pointed an accusing finger at the man, who gaped beerily. "Tom, who pinched farver's best trousers, and popped them?" There was a roar of laughter. A moment before, and Tom had been the pet of the market, the energetic leader, the champion potato-slinger. Now he was a thing of derision.
Beale begged of all likely foot-passengers, but he noted that the "nipper" no longer "stuck it on." For the most part he was quite silent. Only when Beale appealed to him he would say, "Farver's very good to me. I don't know what I should do without farver." And so at last they came to New Cross again, and Mr.
"Didn't ye 'ear the dorg, mum?" said Liza. "What dog?" "The Farver's dorg. It was scratching at the front dawer afore I was up this morning. 'It's the milk, sez I. But the minute I opened the dawer up it came ter the drawerin' room and went snuffling rahnd everywhere." "Where is it now?" "Gorn, mum." "Did anybody else see it? No? You say no? You're sure?
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