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"My WHIPPING-boy?"
"
The same, your Grace. I am Humphrey--Humphrey Marlow."
Tom perceived that here was someone whom his keepers ought to have
posted
him about. The situation was delicate. What should he do?--pretend he
knew this lad, and then betray by his every utterance that he had never
heard of him before? No, that would not do. An idea came to his relief:
accidents like this might be likely to happen with some frequency, now
that business urgencies would often call Hertford and St. John from his
side, they being members of the Council of Executors; therefore perhaps
it would be well to strike out a plan himself to meet the requirements of
such emergencies. Yes, that would be a wise course--he would practise on
this boy, and see what sort of success he might achieve. So he stroked
his brow perplexedly a moment or two, and presently said--
"
Now I seem to remember thee somewhat--but my wit is clogged and dim
with
suffering--"
"
Alack, my poor master!" ejaculated the whipping-boy, with feeling;
adding, to himself, "In truth 'tis as they said--his mind is gone--alas,
poor soul! But misfortune catch me, how am I forgetting! They said one
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