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Updated: May 13, 2025
This kinsman of mine had a fine house at the east end of Merton Street as you turn into Logic Lane: and I was ten yards from the front door, and running my fastest, when suddenly I tripp'd and fell headlong. Before I could rise, a hand was on my shoulder, and a voice speaking in my ear "Pardon, comrade. We are two of a trade, I see."
It is morally impossible the reader should understand this 'tis enough Dr. Slop understood it; so taking the green baize bag in his hand, with the help of Obadiah's pumps, he tripp'd pretty nimbly, for a man of his size, across the room to the door and from the door was shewn the way, by the good old midwife, to my mother's apartments.
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