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Gunpowder

           Hewasidlybeatingthebranchesasheloungedalong:orhestoopedviciouslytoripthemossfromthetreeswithhisstick.Hewasstartledwhentheycameuponhimwhilehewasengagedinthislatterpastime,andhiscolourchanged.

           ‘Halloa!’hestammered;‘Ididn’tknowyouwerehere.’

           ‘Whosename,Tom,’saidMr.Harthouse,puttinghishanduponhisshoulderandturninghim,sothattheyallthreewalkedtowardsthehousetogether,‘haveyoubeencarvingonthetrees?’

           ‘Whosename?’returnedTom.‘Oh!Youmeanwhatgirl’sname?’

           ‘Youhaveasuspiciousappearanceofinscribingsomefaircreature’sonthebark,Tom.’

           ‘Notmuchofthat,Mr.Harthouse,unlesssomefaircreaturewithaslashingfortuneatherowndisposalwouldtakeafancytome.Orshemightbeasuglyasshewasrich,withoutanyfearoflosingme.I’dcarvehernameasoftenassheliked.’

           ‘Iamafraidyouaremercenary,Tom.’

           ‘Mercenary,’repeatedTom.‘Whoisnotmercenary?Askmysister.’

           ‘Haveyousoprovedittobeafailingofmine,Tom?’saidLouisa,showingnoothersenseofhisdiscontentandill-nature.

           ‘Youknowwhetherthecapfitsyou,Loo,’returnedherbrothersulkily.‘Ifitdoes,youcanwearit.’

           ‘Tomismisanthropicalto-day,asallboredpeoplearenowandthen,’saidMr.Harthouse.‘Don’tbelievehim,Mrs.Bounderby.Heknowsmuchbetter.Ishalldisclosesomeofhisopinionsofyou,privatelyexpressedtome,unlessherelentsalittle.’

           ‘Atallevents,Mr.

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