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I mean, if I shouted blue murder every time someone tried to kiss me at Eton,
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I'd have gone hoarse in a month.
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What a tiresome fellow.
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It's not the boy's fault, my lord.
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He's been whipped up, told if he doesn't see it through,
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we'd all suspect him of batting for the same team.
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Crikey! But who'd do that?
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Who's got it in for Barrow?
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Miss O'Brien.
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O'Brien? I thought they were as thick as thieves.
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Not now, my lord.
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Now, I've spoken to your mother.