"Very well. Then I'll build houses, and you shall look at me.
You mustn't blow, you know."
"O no!" said Barbox Brothers.
"No, no, no! No blowing! Blowing's not fair."
He flattered himself that he had said this pretty well for an idiotic
monster; but the child, instantly perceiving the awkwardness of
his attempt to adapt himself to her level, utterly destroyed
his hopeful opinion of himself by saying, compassionately:
"What a funny man you are!"
Feeling, after this melancholy failure, as if he every minute grew
bigger and heavier in person, and weaker in mind, Barbox gave himself
up for a bad job. No giant ever submitted more meekly to be led in
triumph by all-conquering Jack, than he to be bound in slavery to Polly.
"Do you know any stories?" she asked him.
He was reduced to the humiliating confession:
"What a dunce you must be, mustn't you?" said Polly.
He was reduced to the humiliating confession:
"Would you like me to teach you a story? But you must remember it,
you know, and be able to tell it right to somebody else afterwards?"
He professed that it would afford him the highest mental gratification
to be taught a story, and that he would humbly endeavor to retain it in
his mind.
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