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"Eh?" exclaimed the cobbler, "shake 'ands with old Nick, sir? But you're one o' the Quality, and I 'ates the Quality chop off their 'eads if I 'ad my way, I would! and my 'and's very dirty jest let me wipe it a bit, there sir, if you wish to! and 'ere's 'oping to see you again. Though, mark you, the Frenchies was quite right, there's nothing like the gillertine, I say. Good arternoon, sir."
"Gentle-folks, sir, rich folks like you an' m'lud. 'I'd gillertine the lot, if I'd my way, he says, 'like the Frenchies did in Ninety-three, 'e says. But 'e wouldn't reelly o'course, for Nick's very tender-hearted, though 'e don't like it known. So we 're pals, we are, and I often drop in to smoke a pipe wiv 'im " "What! Do you smoke, Imp?"
And because why?" demanded the little man, his fierce eyes growing fiercer as he stared at Barnabas from modish hat to flowered waistcoat, "because I don't make for the Quality. Quality bah! If I 'ad my way, I'd gillertine 'em all, ah, that I would! Like the Frenchies did when they revolutioned. I'd cut off their 'eads! By the dozen! With j'y!" "You are Nick, the Cobbler, I think?"
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