They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously.
Oh, how weary I grow.

How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would _ever_ have done.

I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the '_First of the Seventy-First_.' At that crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon.
'Sir,' I exclaimed, 'sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse.

Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart--Seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat.

The four hundred and ninety-first is too much.