” Lucy begged. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. Miching Mallecho. Pig? By George, every one of them looks like the other; and yet each one attacks the source of supply with a squeal and an oof that's entirely different from his brothers' and sisters'. You shall have your reward. His manner was deferential, even eager. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over.
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