CHAPTER XXVII

----This unfortunate draw-bridge of yours, quoth my father ----God bless your honour, cried _Trim_, ’tis a bridge for master’s nose. ----In bringing him into the world with his vile instruments, he has crushed his nose, _Susannah_ says, as flat as a pancake to his face, and he is making a false bridge with a piece of cotton and a thin piece of whalebone out of _Susannah’s_ stays, to raise it up.

----Lead me, brother _Toby_, cried my father, to my room this instant.

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