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"It must be the salad," said one of the ladies; "no one has eaten it but yourself, and we are all well." "I rather think it must be oh I do recollect that I thought the oil had a queer taste." "Why there was no oil in the castors," replied Tinfoil. "I desired Jenkins to get some." "So did I, particularly," replied Winterbottom. "Oh! oh, dear oh, dear!"
He had sent for the iron kettle in which the soup had been warmed up, and filling it full of Thames water, had immersed the afflicted parts in the cooling element. There he sat with his hands plunged deep, when Mr Winterbottom made his appearance at the same spot and Mr Quince was comforted by witnessing the state of his enemy.
Kirk and Felicia, not to speak of the organ, two chairs, a wash-basin, a frying-pan, two boxes of candles, a good mop, and a pot of soft soap, were all carted home by the invaluable Hop. They met Ken, in from his second trip, in the middle of Winterbottom Hill, and they gave him a lift. "Oh, if you knew what you're sitting on!" Phil chuckled. "Good heavens!
Although Sauvages at the end of the last century was the first to give an accurate description of this disease, many physicians had observed it before. Frambesia or yaws was observed in Brazil as early as 1643, and in America later by Lebat in 1722. In the last century Winterbottom and Hume describe yaws in Africa, Hume calling it the African distemper.
All was mirth and gaiety the wherries kept close to each other, and between the airs the parties kept up a lively and witty conversation, occasionally venting their admiration upon the verdure of the sloping lawns and feathering trees with which the banks of the noble river are so beautifully adorned; even Mr Winterbottom had partially recovered his serenity, when he was again irritated by a remark of Quince, who addressed him.
Winterbottom snatched the hint and the frying-pan at the same moment. Quince squatted himself down with a serge, as they say at sea, quoting at the time "Marry, our play is the most lamentable comedy" but putting his hands behind him, to soften his fall, they were received into the hot frying-pan, inserted behind him by Winterbottom.
"I'll trouble you, Mr Tinfoil, not to be so very witty at my expense," growled out Winterbottom. "I never wrote a line of poetry in my life." "No one said you did, Winterbottom; but you won't deny that you wrote those lines." Mr Winterbottom disdained a reply.
Winterbottom remained with the Belgian army throughout the great retreat into Flanders, and when it settled down into the trench life on the Yser, she was officially attached to a division, with which she has remained ever since, moving when her division moves.
He banged on to the invoice a five-pound bag of silver, then in a delicate and pretty movement, picked up a little ten-pound column of gold, and plumped it beside the silver. The gold slid in a bright stream over the paper. The cashier finished counting off the money; the boy dragged the whole down the counter to Mr. Winterbottom, to whom the stoppages for rent and tools must be paid.
At last Tom proposed to him to sit on the pail before her, as then he could address her with safety; and Winterbottom staggered up to take the seat. As he was seating himself, Tom took off the cover, so that he was plunged into the half-liquid ice; but Mr Winterbottom was too drunk to perceive it.
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