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...you; they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have always passed over.
CARELESS. What, that ill-looking little fellow over the settee?
SIR OLIVER. Yes, sir, I mean that; though I don't think him so ill-looking a little fellow, by any means.
CHARLES. What, that? Oh; that's my uncle Oliver! 'Twas done before he went to India.
CARELESS. Your uncle Oliver! Gad, then you'll never be friends, Charles. That, now, to me, is as stern a looking rogue as ever I saw;An unforgiving eye, and a damned disinheriting countenance!an inveterate knave, depend on't. Don't you think so, little Premium?
SIR OLIVER. Upon my soul, Sir, I do not; I think it is as honest a looking face as any in the room, dead or alive. But I suppose uncle Oliver goes with the rest of the lumber?
CHARLES. No, hang it! I'll not part with poor Noll. The old fellow has been very good to me, and, egad, I'll keep his picture while I've a room to put it in.
SIR OLIVER. [Aside.] The rogue's my nephew after all!--[Aloud.] But,... Sheridan, Richard Brinsley
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