Why ... father!...
Be careful Sir; metaphors and poetry are not for babes and sucklings....
You be a good man after all ... baint you Sir? continued she, getting more confidence at every breath, now that she found the Shape willing to let her go whenever she chose to go. You be a good man after all Sir ... baint you Sir?
I hope so dear.
You never torments the people, do you? Leaning with her whole weight upon his knee, letting go her father’s coat, and shaking her abundant hair loose.
I! ... no indeed I hope not.... I should be very sorry to torment the people.
Would you though?
Yes dear....
Uncle Georgee! said the child in a whisper that sounded like a whisper of joy ... dear uncle George ... and he drew her into his lap, and she put her mouth close to his ear and repeated the words again, so that they went into his heart—O, I do love you, uncle Georgee!
Having passed a whole hour in examining the two little sufferers (whom he left asleep in each other’s arms) he went away utterly confounded by their behaviour, and with little hope of reaching the truth; for if Abigail Paris and Bridget Pope were what they seemed to be ... what they undoubtedly were indeed,—innocent as the dove—how could he say after all, that they were not bewitched? Still however there was one hope. That which he saw might proceed from disease or from fear, the natural growth in that age and among that people, of a solitary situation. But if so, what was he to think of others, who had a like faith, and yet lived in a populous neighborhood and were cheerful and happy? Anxious to arrive at the truth, he set off immediately to see Rachel and Elizabeth Dyer, knowing that under their quiet roof, he should be at peace, though he failed to procure what he needed ... further information about her who had abused the people and the judges with a tremendous forgery.