—This unfortunate draw-bridge of yours, quoth my father—God bless your honour, cried Trim, ‘tis a bridge for master’s nose.—In bringing him into the world with his vile instruments, he has crushed his nose, Susannah says, as flat as a pancake to his face, and he is making a false bridge with a piece of cotton and a thin piece of whalebone out of Susannah’s stays, to raise it up.
—Lead me, brother Toby, cried my father, to my room this instant.