“Three-and-twenty years.”
“What snuff do you take?”
“Universal mixture.”
“And you find it of use?”
Taggart tapped his box.
“In what respect?” said I.
“In many—there is nothing like it to get a man through; but for snuff I should scarcely be where I am now.”
“Have you been long here?”
“Three-and-twenty years.”
“Dear me,” said I; “and snuff brought you through? Give me a pinch—pah, I don’t like it,” and I sneezed.