Sebastian howled with laughter, doubling over. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. Tell me how are you amusing yourself?” Anna laughed. "I love her already. They were at the corner of Pall Mall now, and had come to a standstill. As to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you do go I shall need no memorial of you. “What I am after is that beauty isn’t a special inserted sort of thing; that’s my idea. —I'll give him the edication of a prig,—teach him the use of his forks betimes,—and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his father.
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