I swore arterwards, sure as ever I spec'lated and got rich, you should get rich.

I lived rough, that you should live smooth; I worked hard, that you should be above work.

What odds, dear boy?
Do I tell it, fur you to feel a obligation?
Not a bit.

I tell it, fur you to know as that there hunted dunghill dog wot you kep life in, got his head so high that he could make a gentleman,--and, Pip, you're him!" The abhorrence in which I held the man, the dread I had of him, the repugnance with which I shrank from him, could not have been exceeded if he had been some terrible beast.
"Look'ee here, Pip.

I'm your second father.