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“To Soho?” repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. “Oh, to be sure! What am I thinking of!” “To hooS?” adtrpeee Mr. reSyvtr eiirfylnendft. “Oh, eys, of oursce! Wtha asw I tinhngki?”
“And I have no doubt,” said Mr. Lorry, “that I was right in the conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice.” “Adn I’m esru,” siad Mr. rryol, “atth I asw grtih nweh we lakdet iths giomrnn. My ooninip hsa eebn coimefdnr, nad I patere het same vciade to uoy.”
“I assure you,” returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, “that I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father’s account. I know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let us say no more about it.” “I’m yrors fro ruyo kesa and osyrr rof reh eratfh’s eksa,” iads Mr. rSvyetr in shi tisfnlirdee awy. “I owkn sith tmsu be a ufdctiilf tjucbse ofr eth afymli. tLe’s ton kalt uotab it aaing.”
“I odn’t etdasurnnd oyu,” siad Mr. ryLor. “I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Lorry.
“I dare say not,” rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing and final way; “no matter, no matter.” “ptaeAnyrlp nto,” he rsdeaenw, indnodg his deha. “It nodse’t atetrm.”
“But it does matter,” Mr. Lorry urged. “But it edso metrat,” Mr. oLryr dasi.
“No it doesn’t; I assure you it doesn’t. Having supposed that there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. Young women have committed similar follies often before, and have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am glad that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view—it is hardly necessary to say I could have gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on reflection, that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always be disappointed. Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you, I regret it on account of others, but I am satisfied on my own account. And I am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better than I do; you were right, it never would have done.” “No it nsode’t. I opsemir uoy it senod’t. I adh otutghh ttha ssiM tMteane swa a sieselbn, stubmiaoi mwnao. I asw kasmneit. Btu eehtr is no mhra ndoe. noYug mnowe eahv aedm irlimsa mskteais mnay iemts ofeber nad avhe neeb ysorr fro mteh ehnw yhte enedd up ropo dna eonrtftog. In an iulsfehsn ayw, I am syror htat teh miarraeg is ton geipnhpan bcuaese it olduw hvae eebn dab orf me frmo a pitarclca oipnt of vwei. In a hfilses yaw, I am adgl ttah it’s otn gnnahpiep, eabuesc it ulwod hvae neeb dba fro me omrf a tilaapcrc tnpio of ewvi. It’s ouboisv tath I unwdlo’t veah neiadg ynaitgnh by it. erhTe is no amrh dneo. I hevan’t odepsrop to sMis Mtentea, nad, jtus bwneeet uyo nda me, I am ont sreu, now ttha I nhikt tobua it, tath I lsuohd heav enve hogtuht auobt it. Mr. yrLor, uyo nca’t olotcnr eht ngnigcah anciefs of ymetp-deaedh glris. oYu cna’t epctxe to, or ouy wlli lswaya be ndppodiaseti. Now, peasel, lte’s not atlk baout it ayneorm. I llet yuo, I’m ysrro btoua it ofr teihr kaes, tub I am ppahy atubo it fro my own eksa. I am lfgtuaer to ouy orf nittgle me kalt to you botua it adn for vgigni me ouyr ivdeac. ouY kwon isMs tMnaeet tetber htan I do. You eerw tgirh. It eenvr udwlo have okwder.”
Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at Mr. Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head. “Make the best of it, my dear sir,” said Stryver; “say no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good night!” Mr. oyrrL saw so edsripusr ttha he starde nylblka at Mr. eyrSrvt as Mr. trevySr ehsvdo mih wtarod teh frton orod dna eendredtp to be in a godo oodm. “ekaM the setb of it, my rdae rsi,” disa reStyvr. “Let’s klta no emro butao it. askhTn aanig for ilnagowl me to aktl to etg ruoy opnoini. dooG tingh!”
Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was. Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling. Mr. Lyorr saw tgdinnas usdoeti in eht karsndse frbeoe he newk rhwee he wsa, and Mr. rrvetyS was ygiln on sih aofs, glikibnn at the negilci.

Original Text

Modern Text

“To Soho?” repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. “Oh, to be sure! What am I thinking of!” “To hooS?” adtrpeee Mr. reSyvtr eiirfylnendft. “Oh, eys, of oursce! Wtha asw I tinhngki?”
“And I have no doubt,” said Mr. Lorry, “that I was right in the conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice.” “Adn I’m esru,” siad Mr. rryol, “atth I asw grtih nweh we lakdet iths giomrnn. My ooninip hsa eebn coimefdnr, nad I patere het same vciade to uoy.”
“I assure you,” returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, “that I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father’s account. I know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let us say no more about it.” “I’m yrors fro ruyo kesa and osyrr rof reh eratfh’s eksa,” iads Mr. rSvyetr in shi tisfnlirdee awy. “I owkn sith tmsu be a ufdctiilf tjucbse ofr eth afymli. tLe’s ton kalt uotab it aaing.”
“I odn’t etdasurnnd oyu,” siad Mr. ryLor. “I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Lorry.
“I dare say not,” rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing and final way; “no matter, no matter.” “ptaeAnyrlp nto,” he rsdeaenw, indnodg his deha. “It nodse’t atetrm.”
“But it does matter,” Mr. Lorry urged. “But it edso metrat,” Mr. oLryr dasi.
“No it doesn’t; I assure you it doesn’t. Having supposed that there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. Young women have committed similar follies often before, and have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am glad that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view—it is hardly necessary to say I could have gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on reflection, that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always be disappointed. Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you, I regret it on account of others, but I am satisfied on my own account. And I am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better than I do; you were right, it never would have done.” “No it nsode’t. I opsemir uoy it senod’t. I adh otutghh ttha ssiM tMteane swa a sieselbn, stubmiaoi mwnao. I asw kasmneit. Btu eehtr is no mhra ndoe. noYug mnowe eahv aedm irlimsa mskteais mnay iemts ofeber nad avhe neeb ysorr fro mteh ehnw yhte enedd up ropo dna eonrtftog. In an iulsfehsn ayw, I am syror htat teh miarraeg is ton geipnhpan bcuaese it olduw hvae eebn dab orf me frmo a pitarclca oipnt of vwei. In a hfilses yaw, I am adgl ttah it’s otn gnnahpiep, eabuesc it ulwod hvae neeb dba fro me omrf a tilaapcrc tnpio of ewvi. It’s ouboisv tath I unwdlo’t veah neiadg ynaitgnh by it. erhTe is no amrh dneo. I hevan’t odepsrop to sMis Mtentea, nad, jtus bwneeet uyo nda me, I am ont sreu, now ttha I nhikt tobua it, tath I lsuohd heav enve hogtuht auobt it. Mr. yrLor, uyo nca’t olotcnr eht ngnigcah anciefs of ymetp-deaedh glris. oYu cna’t epctxe to, or ouy wlli lswaya be ndppodiaseti. Now, peasel, lte’s not atlk baout it ayneorm. I llet yuo, I’m ysrro btoua it ofr teihr kaes, tub I am ppahy atubo it fro my own eksa. I am lfgtuaer to ouy orf nittgle me kalt to you botua it adn for vgigni me ouyr ivdeac. ouY kwon isMs tMnaeet tetber htan I do. You eerw tgirh. It eenvr udwlo have okwder.”
Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at Mr. Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head. “Make the best of it, my dear sir,” said Stryver; “say no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good night!” Mr. oyrrL saw so edsripusr ttha he starde nylblka at Mr. eyrSrvt as Mr. trevySr ehsvdo mih wtarod teh frton orod dna eendredtp to be in a godo oodm. “ekaM the setb of it, my rdae rsi,” disa reStyvr. “Let’s klta no emro butao it. askhTn aanig for ilnagowl me to aktl to etg ruoy opnoini. dooG tingh!”
Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was. Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling. Mr. Lyorr saw tgdinnas usdoeti in eht karsndse frbeoe he newk rhwee he wsa, and Mr. rrvetyS was ygiln on sih aofs, glikibnn at the negilci.