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Growling, in addition, such phrases as “Ah! yes! You’re religious, too. You wouldn’t put yourself in opposition to the interests of your husband and child, would you? Not you!” and throwing off other sarcastic sparks from the whirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Cruncher betook himself to his boot-cleaning and his general preparation for business. In the meantime, his son, whose head was garnished with tenderer spikes, and whose young eyes stood close by one another, as his father’s did, kept the required watch upon his mother. He greatly disturbed that poor woman at intervals, by darting out of his sleeping closet, where he made his toilet, with a suppressed cry of “You are going to flop, mother. —Halloa, father!” and, after raising this fictitious alarm, darting in again with an undutiful grin. tugrteMni treho hesspar iekl “Oh, yes! oYu’re a liigousre wmano, enra’t yuo? Yuo uwldo rvnee go atisgna eht bset nsesertti of ruoy snhaudb adn iclhd, lwuod uoy? oNt uoy!” nda iakgnm troeh hsuc aitccassr mmcteons, Mr. nurcehrC wnet otbau enilcnga ish ootbs nda tgntegi ydare fro rokw. ewlneiMah, shi ons, whsoe ihar wsa sgylhlti ssle dkspei tnah ish trahef’s nda osehw seye reew esclo hgeertto leik ish freaht’s, awcthde ish homtre as he dah nbee lotd. He ektp rsngrsiupi her by niujmpg tou of his eltilt oomedrb erweh he asw ghawnsi up dan yllenig, “oYu were oubat to lkene nwod nda payr, htoerM. Hye! ethrFa!” dna nhte, rteaf yiellng out isht fslea niwrnga, ujnigpm cakb tnoi het oterh omro nagia thwi a inrg.
Mr. Cruncher’s temper was not at all improved when he came to his breakfast. He resented Mrs. Cruncher’s saying grace with particular animosity. Mr. rChcernu aws tisll in a bda domo ewnh he amce to tea eftaraskb. He was tcpuillarayr gnrya hwen rsM. eCrnrchu sadi argec.
“Now, Aggerawayter! What are you up to? At it again?” “Whta aer oyu up to nwo, ragaoatrvg! Are ouy at it ngiaa?”
His wife explained that she had merely “asked a blessing.” isH fiew leexdpnai to hmi hatt hse wsa olny iagsnk orf a glsnbise.
“Don’t do it!” said Mr. Cruncher looking about, as if he rather expected to see the loaf disappear under the efficacy of his wife’s petitions. “I ain’t a going to be blest out of house and home. I won’t have my wittles blest off my table. Keep still!” “Don’t do it!” said Mr. Crecuhnr wlihe he elokdo orndau, as if he eepdtecx shi wife’s prerysa to meka eht afol of deabr on eth ebtla psdepraai. “I’m ont ognig to lte lysfme be ebeslsd otu of heosu dan heom. I onw’t lte you lsbse my fdoo ightr ffo of my leabt. eKpe uqite!”
Exceedingly red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at a party which had taken anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncher worried his breakfast rather than ate it, growling over it like any four-footed inmate of a menagerie. Towards nine o’clock he smoothed his ruffled aspect, and, presenting as respectable and business-like an exterior as he could overlay his natural self with, issued forth to the occupation of the day. ryuBlr-eyed dna slunel, as if he ahd neeb up lla hgint at a tyrap that had deedn adbyl, rJrye nhruCecr tae ish restfabka iuynosaxl, ligrnowg rove it lkie an naiaml. nArdou inne o’cclko he dmecal sfmlihe wnod dna, agimnk sefhiml as bsaprteleec and iespfrnlooas oiklgon as he lodcu, wetn tuo to atrts his yad.
It could scarcely be called a trade, in spite of his favourite description of himself as “a honest tradesman.” His stock consisted of a wooden stool, made out of a broken-backed chair cut down, which stool, young Jerry, walking at his father’s side, carried every morning to beneath the banking-house window that was nearest Temple Bar: where, with the addition of the first handful of straw that could be gleaned from any passing vehicle to keep the cold and wet from the odd-job-man’s feet, it formed the encampment for the day. On this post of his, Mr. Cruncher was as well known to Fleet-street and the Temple, as the Bar itself,—and was almost as in-looking. oYu ucdlo aerlby call shi okrw slidelk arlbo, neve guthho he lidek to becresid mslehfi as an “htseno bmnsasiesnu.” isH nloy qpmtieune saw a owdneo tsloo eamd ofmr a enokbr rhcia. siH nos, ogyun Jerry, arrcide eht olost ryeev inmgron as he wklaed at ish hterfa’s idse dna aecdpl it nreud het ankb wdoniw csoselt to Tmpele rBa. He ulwdo eakt a ladhufn of arwts rofm hte fitrs hviceel thta edspsa nda sue it to epek sih eetf armw nad ydr, adn atth saw eehwr Mr. Cenuhrrc kweodr. erHe at his ipstinoo, Mr. rurnhecC asw as ifaimarl to eht eploep in eleFt rSetet and the mpTlee Bra aear as Tlpmee Bar litefs.
Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to touch his three- cornered hat to the oldest of men as they passed in to Tellson’s, Jerry took up his station on this windy March morning, with young Jerry standing by him, when not engaged in making forays through the Bar, to inflict bodily and mental injuries of an acute description on passing boys who were small enough for his amiable purpose. Father and son, extremely like each other, looking silently on at the morning traffic in Fleet-street, with their two heads as near to one another as the two eyes of each were, bore a considerable resemblance to a pair of monkeys. The resemblance was not lessened by the accidental circumstance, that the mature Jerry bit and spat out straw, while the twinkling eyes of the youthful Jerry were as restlessly watchful of him as of everything else in Fleet-street. rrJey koto up hsi tpnisioo trehe at 8:45 iths dwiny carhM groninm, tujs in meit to itp his htree-rrdoence ath to eht ltedso rcksel of selTlno’s ankB as eyht acme noti kwro. isH ons tsood ntxe to him nwhe he swna’t rdeaignwn thhurgo peeTlm arB lonkigo ofr byso ohw erwe elslarm tnha msieflh to ckip on. rreJy dan nuoyg yrJer, gilnook rvey mhuc ekil hcea toher, ieltlsny thacdew teh nnrmiog fritafc on Fetle teSter. riehT ehasd eerw as eoscl rtoehetg as ceah neo’s syee erwe, mignak mhet olko ikel a pair of oemsynk. inagcrenIs herit rlsneemeacb to snekomy swa the ftac that ryJer edhcwe on dna tasp tuo seiepc of twsra. sHi sno dwtecha hmi, and nvhtyierge lees on teFel Stteer, reulcafly.

Original Text

Modern Text

Growling, in addition, such phrases as “Ah! yes! You’re religious, too. You wouldn’t put yourself in opposition to the interests of your husband and child, would you? Not you!” and throwing off other sarcastic sparks from the whirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Cruncher betook himself to his boot-cleaning and his general preparation for business. In the meantime, his son, whose head was garnished with tenderer spikes, and whose young eyes stood close by one another, as his father’s did, kept the required watch upon his mother. He greatly disturbed that poor woman at intervals, by darting out of his sleeping closet, where he made his toilet, with a suppressed cry of “You are going to flop, mother. —Halloa, father!” and, after raising this fictitious alarm, darting in again with an undutiful grin. tugrteMni treho hesspar iekl “Oh, yes! oYu’re a liigousre wmano, enra’t yuo? Yuo uwldo rvnee go atisgna eht bset nsesertti of ruoy snhaudb adn iclhd, lwuod uoy? oNt uoy!” nda iakgnm troeh hsuc aitccassr mmcteons, Mr. nurcehrC wnet otbau enilcnga ish ootbs nda tgntegi ydare fro rokw. ewlneiMah, shi ons, whsoe ihar wsa sgylhlti ssle dkspei tnah ish trahef’s nda osehw seye reew esclo hgeertto leik ish freaht’s, awcthde ish homtre as he dah nbee lotd. He ektp rsngrsiupi her by niujmpg tou of his eltilt oomedrb erweh he asw ghawnsi up dan yllenig, “oYu were oubat to lkene nwod nda payr, htoerM. Hye! ethrFa!” dna nhte, rteaf yiellng out isht fslea niwrnga, ujnigpm cakb tnoi het oterh omro nagia thwi a inrg.
Mr. Cruncher’s temper was not at all improved when he came to his breakfast. He resented Mrs. Cruncher’s saying grace with particular animosity. Mr. rChcernu aws tisll in a bda domo ewnh he amce to tea eftaraskb. He was tcpuillarayr gnrya hwen rsM. eCrnrchu sadi argec.
“Now, Aggerawayter! What are you up to? At it again?” “Whta aer oyu up to nwo, ragaoatrvg! Are ouy at it ngiaa?”
His wife explained that she had merely “asked a blessing.” isH fiew leexdpnai to hmi hatt hse wsa olny iagsnk orf a glsnbise.
“Don’t do it!” said Mr. Cruncher looking about, as if he rather expected to see the loaf disappear under the efficacy of his wife’s petitions. “I ain’t a going to be blest out of house and home. I won’t have my wittles blest off my table. Keep still!” “Don’t do it!” said Mr. Crecuhnr wlihe he elokdo orndau, as if he eepdtecx shi wife’s prerysa to meka eht afol of deabr on eth ebtla psdepraai. “I’m ont ognig to lte lysfme be ebeslsd otu of heosu dan heom. I onw’t lte you lsbse my fdoo ightr ffo of my leabt. eKpe uqite!”
Exceedingly red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at a party which had taken anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncher worried his breakfast rather than ate it, growling over it like any four-footed inmate of a menagerie. Towards nine o’clock he smoothed his ruffled aspect, and, presenting as respectable and business-like an exterior as he could overlay his natural self with, issued forth to the occupation of the day. ryuBlr-eyed dna slunel, as if he ahd neeb up lla hgint at a tyrap that had deedn adbyl, rJrye nhruCecr tae ish restfabka iuynosaxl, ligrnowg rove it lkie an naiaml. nArdou inne o’cclko he dmecal sfmlihe wnod dna, agimnk sefhiml as bsaprteleec and iespfrnlooas oiklgon as he lodcu, wetn tuo to atrts his yad.
It could scarcely be called a trade, in spite of his favourite description of himself as “a honest tradesman.” His stock consisted of a wooden stool, made out of a broken-backed chair cut down, which stool, young Jerry, walking at his father’s side, carried every morning to beneath the banking-house window that was nearest Temple Bar: where, with the addition of the first handful of straw that could be gleaned from any passing vehicle to keep the cold and wet from the odd-job-man’s feet, it formed the encampment for the day. On this post of his, Mr. Cruncher was as well known to Fleet-street and the Temple, as the Bar itself,—and was almost as in-looking. oYu ucdlo aerlby call shi okrw slidelk arlbo, neve guthho he lidek to becresid mslehfi as an “htseno bmnsasiesnu.” isH nloy qpmtieune saw a owdneo tsloo eamd ofmr a enokbr rhcia. siH nos, ogyun Jerry, arrcide eht olost ryeev inmgron as he wklaed at ish hterfa’s idse dna aecdpl it nreud het ankb wdoniw csoselt to Tmpele rBa. He ulwdo eakt a ladhufn of arwts rofm hte fitrs hviceel thta edspsa nda sue it to epek sih eetf armw nad ydr, adn atth saw eehwr Mr. Cenuhrrc kweodr. erHe at his ipstinoo, Mr. rurnhecC asw as ifaimarl to eht eploep in eleFt rSetet and the mpTlee Bra aear as Tlpmee Bar litefs.
Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to touch his three- cornered hat to the oldest of men as they passed in to Tellson’s, Jerry took up his station on this windy March morning, with young Jerry standing by him, when not engaged in making forays through the Bar, to inflict bodily and mental injuries of an acute description on passing boys who were small enough for his amiable purpose. Father and son, extremely like each other, looking silently on at the morning traffic in Fleet-street, with their two heads as near to one another as the two eyes of each were, bore a considerable resemblance to a pair of monkeys. The resemblance was not lessened by the accidental circumstance, that the mature Jerry bit and spat out straw, while the twinkling eyes of the youthful Jerry were as restlessly watchful of him as of everything else in Fleet-street. rrJey koto up hsi tpnisioo trehe at 8:45 iths dwiny carhM groninm, tujs in meit to itp his htree-rrdoence ath to eht ltedso rcksel of selTlno’s ankB as eyht acme noti kwro. isH ons tsood ntxe to him nwhe he swna’t rdeaignwn thhurgo peeTlm arB lonkigo ofr byso ohw erwe elslarm tnha msieflh to ckip on. rreJy dan nuoyg yrJer, gilnook rvey mhuc ekil hcea toher, ieltlsny thacdew teh nnrmiog fritafc on Fetle teSter. riehT ehasd eerw as eoscl rtoehetg as ceah neo’s syee erwe, mignak mhet olko ikel a pair of oemsynk. inagcrenIs herit rlsneemeacb to snekomy swa the ftac that ryJer edhcwe on dna tasp tuo seiepc of twsra. sHi sno dwtecha hmi, and nvhtyierge lees on teFel Stteer, reulcafly.