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'Hey, Throttler, lad! whispered the little wretch, rousing a half-bred bull-dog from its lair in a corner. 'Now, wilt thou be ganging? he asked authoritatively. Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the threshold to wait till the others should enter. Mr.
It is right to establish a good understanding at the beginning. I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, said 'How do you do, my dear? He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend. 'Shall you and I be friends, Hareton? was my next essay at conversation. An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not 'frame off' rewarded my perseverance.
An unexpected aid presently appeared in the shape of Throttler, whom I now recognised as a son of our old Skulker: it had spent its whelphood at the Grange, and was given by my father to Mr. Hindley.
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