You know I'm a lineal descendant of the White Cat, and have seven lives accordingly.
Also I have a trick of falling from six-storey windows upon my feet, in the manner of the traditions of my race.

Not only I die hard, but I can hardly die.

'Half of it would kill _me_,' said an admiring friend the other day.

'What strength you must have!' A questionable advantage, except that I have also--a Robert, and a Penini! Dearest friend, I don't know how to tell you of our fullness of sympathy in your late trials.[41] From a word which reached us from England the other day, there will be, I do trust, some effectual arrangement to relieve your friends from their anxieties about you.

Then, there should be an increase of the Government pension by another hundred, that is certain; only the 'should be' lies so far out of sight in the ideal, that nobody in his senses should calculate on its occurrence.