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Book, page 282 / 462 Doctor. Mar. Well then, doctor, what will you eat to-day? Fred. Eat, madam! eat! nothing! nothing! I don't see anything here I can eat, ma'am. Mar. Here's eels, sir; let me help you to some eel--stewed eel;--you used to be fond of stewed eel. Fred. Used, ma'am, used! But I'm sick of stewed eels. You would tire one of anything. Am I to see nothing but eels? And what's this at the bottom? Mar. Mutton, doctor, roast mutton; if you'll be so good as to cut it. Fred. Cut it, ma'am! I can't cut it, I say; it's as hard as a deal board. You might as well tell me to cut the table, ma'am. Mutton, indeed! not a bit of fat. Roast mutton, indeed! not a drop of gravy. Mutton, truly! quite a cinder. I'll have none of it. Here, take it away; take it downstairs to the cook. It's a very hard case, Mrs. Carbuncle, that I can never have a bit of anything that I can eat at my own table, Mrs. Carbuncle, since I was married, ma'am, I that am the easiest man in the whole world to please about my dinner. It's really very extraordinary, Mrs. Carbuncle! What have you at that corner there, under the cover? Mar. Patties, sir; oyster patties. Fred. Patties, ma'am! kickshaws! I hate kickshaws. Not worth putting under a cover, ma'am. And why not have glass covers, that one may see one's dinner before one, before it grows cold with asking questions, Mrs. Carbuncle, and lifting up covers? But nobody has any sense: and I see no water plates anywhere, lately. Mar. Do, pray, doctor, let me help you to a bit of chicken before it gets cold, my dear. Fred. (aside). "My dear," again, Marianne!
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