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Chapter 42 I think, an please your honour, quoth Trim, the fortifications are quite destroyedand the bason is upon a level with the moleI think so too; replied my uncle Toby with a sigh half suppressdbut step into the parlour, Trim, for the stipulationit lies upon the table. It has lain there these six weeks, replied the corporal, till this very morning that the old woman kindled the fire with it Then, said my uncle Toby, there is no further occasion for our services. The more, an please your honour, the pity, said the corporal; in uttering which he cast his spade into the wheel-barrow, which was beside him, with an air the most expressive of disconsolation that can be imagined, and was heavily turning about to look for his pickax, his pioneers shovel, his picquets, and other little military stores, in order to carry them off the fieldwhen a heigh-ho! from the sentry-box, which being made of thin slit deal, reverberated the sound more sorrowfully to his ear, forbad him. No; said the corporal to himself, Ill do it before his honour rises to- morrow morning; so taking his spade out of the wheel-barrow again, with a little earth in it, as if to level something at the foot of the glacisbut with a real intent to approach nearer to his master, in order to divert himhe loosend a sod or twopared their edges with his spade, and having given them a gentle blow or two with the back of it, he sat himself down close by my uncle Tobys feet and began as follows. |
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