You're watching for my carcase, snuffing the air at a distance under the hope of a gorge.

No--you didn't care the devil had me, provided you could make a haul by it." "I hope sir, there's no----" "Hope! You rascally hypocrite, what's hope good for?
Hope to rot in the grave is it?
To melt into corruption and feed the worms?
What a precious putrid carcase I'll make, when I'm a month in the dirt.

Maybe you wouldn't much relish the scent of me then, my worthy Vulture.

Curse your beak, at all events! what do you want?
what did you come for ?" Val, who knew his worthy sire well, knew also the most successful method of working out any purpose with him.

He accordingly replied, conscious that hypocrisy was out of the question-- "The fact is, sir, I want you to aid me in a piece of knavery." "I'll do it--I'll do it.