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"Hear, hear, Steeve!" was shouted in support of the Conservative principle enunciated by him. "What I say is, flesh and blood afore foxes!" Thus did Farmer Wainsby likewise attempt a rallying-cry; but Stephen's retort, "Ain't foxes flesh and blood?" convicted him of clumsiness, and, buoyed on the uproar of cheers, Stephen pursued, "They are; to kill 'em in cold blood's beast-murder, so it is.
But Mrs. Lovell, she settled the case a lady, Farmer Wainsby, with your leave. There's the good of having a lady present on the field. That's due to a lady!" "Happen she was at the bottom of it," the farmer returned Stephen's nod grumpily. "How did it end, Stephen, my lad?" said Butcher Billing, indicating a "never mind him."
Boulby, bending as in a curtsey to the glass; and so soft with him that foolish fellows thought her cowed by the accusation thrown at her favourite. "There's two questions about they valpecies, Master Stephen," said Farmer Wainsby, a farmer with a grievance, fixing his elbow on his knee for serious utterance. "There's to ask, and t' ask again. Sport, I grant ye. All in doo season.
Boulby, bending as in a curtsey to the glass; and so soft with him that foolish fellows thought her cowed by the accusation thrown at her favourite. "There's two questions about they valpecies, Master Stephen," said Farmer Wainsby, a farmer with a grievance, fixing his elbow on his knee for serious utterance. "There's to ask, and t' ask again. Sport, I grant ye. All in doo season.
But Mrs. Lovell, she settled the case a lady, Farmer Wainsby, with your leave. There's the good of having a lady present on the field. That's due to a lady!" "Happen she was at the bottom of it," the farmer returned Stephen's nod grumpily. "How did it end, Stephen, my lad?" said Butcher Billing, indicating a "never mind him."
"And so, may be, do we," said Wainsby. "Fox-hunting 'll go on when your great-grandfather's your youngest son, farmer; or t' other way." "I reckon it'll be a stuffed fox your chil'ern 'll hunt, Mr. Steeve; more straw in 'em than bow'ls." "If the country," Stephen thumped the table, "were what you'd make of it, hang me if my name 'd long be Englishman!"
"And so, may be, do we," said Wainsby. "Fox-hunting 'll go on when your great-grandfather's your youngest son, farmer; or t' other way." "I reckon it'll be a stuffed fox your chil'ern 'll hunt, Mr. Steeve; more straw in 'em than bow'ls." "If the country," Stephen thumped the table, "were what you'd make of it, hang me if my name 'd long be Englishman!"
"Hear, hear, Steeve!" was shouted in support of the Conservative principle enunciated by him. "What I say is, flesh and blood afore foxes!" Thus did Farmer Wainsby likewise attempt a rallying-cry; but Stephen's retort, "Ain't foxes flesh and blood?" convicted him of clumsiness, and, buoyed on the uproar of cheers, Stephen pursued, "They are; to kill 'em in cold blood's beast-murder, so it is.
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