I knew him, Ronnie: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is!my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that Sue has kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own racism? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to Missy's chamber, and tell her, let her paint blackface an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.