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"The Wrong Box"

'
But this was Michael's last interruption. He listened in good-humoured
silence to the remainder of his uncle's lecture, which speedily branched
to political reform, thence to the theory of the weather-glass, with an
illustrative account of a bora in the Adriatic; thence again to the best
manner of teaching arithmetic to the deaf-and-dumb; and with that, the
sandwich being then no more, explicuit valde feliciter. A moment later
the pair issued forth on the King's Road.
'Michael, I said his uncle, 'the reason that I am here is because I
cannot endure those nephews of mine. I find them intolerable.'
'I daresay you do,' assented Michael, 'I never could stand them for a
moment.'
'They wouldn't let me speak,' continued the old gentleman bitterly; 'I
never was allowed to get a word in edgewise; I was shut up at once with
some impertinent remark. They kept me on short allowance of pencils,
when I wished to make notes of the most absorbing interest; the daily
newspaper was guarded from me like a young baby from a gorilla. Now, you
know me, Michael. I live for my calculations; I live for my manifold and
ever-changing views of life; pens and paper and the productions of the
popular press are to me as important as food and drink; and my life
was growing quite intolerable when, in the confusion of that fortunate
railway accident at Browndean, I made my escape.


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