[I]t is an error worse than heresie, to adore these complemental and circumstantial pieces of felicity, and undervalue those perfections and essential points of happiness wherein we resemble our Maker.
He began to fan her with his hat. That was successful, for he struck her nose with the brim of his derby and she opened her eyes.
And finally he pointed to an old thunderbox and shovel. 'Our toilet block.' Everyone except Fly stared at that old thunderbox like it was from Mars.
An I could climb and lay my hand upon it, / Then were I wealthier than a leash of kings.
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