It's too much.

There are bounds to human endurance.

So thought Sim Tappertit when Gabriel drew those rosy lips to his--those lips within Sim's reach from day to day, and yet so far off.

He had a respect for his master, but he wished the Yorkshire cake might choke him.
'Father,' said the locksmith's daughter, when this salute was over, and they took their seats at table, 'what is this I hear about last night ?' 'All true, my dear; true as the Gospel, Doll.' 'Young Mr Chester robbed, and lying wounded in the road, when you came up!' 'Ay--Mr Edward.

And beside him, Barnaby, calling for help with all his might.