'Tilda,' said Miss Squeers, with such a sudden accession of violence that John started in his boots, 'I throw you off for ever, miss.

I abandon you.

I renounce you.

I wouldn't,' cried Miss Squeers in a solemn voice, 'have a child named 'Tilda, not to save it from its grave.' 'As for the matther o' that,' observed John, 'it'll be time eneaf to think aboot neaming of it when it cooms.' 'John!' interposed his wife, 'don't tease her.' 'Oh! Tease, indeed!' cried Miss Squeers, bridling up.

'Tease, indeed! He, he! Tease, too! No, don't tease her.