more leper-trees pitted, rownsepykèd out of nature, cut off in their sap-rising.

S'cat! s'cat! — set that cat off that barns knee — it al puzzum it! Ah've tel'd 'em awal abart that tu monny a hunderd times, bud thuh tak no moar gaum o' muh then a stoop.

Meeting him in the street and ignoring the foul bowler hat he wore on his walks abroad, you would have put him down as a Bishop in mufti or, at the least, a plenipotentiary at one of the better courts.

Masters wants his money back so he can burn it, because, as he says, it's no good to me after they've handled it. It has circulated in the wrong space, miscirculated in that other space, a space of labor, industry, and poverty which must be held off.