Is there not some ancient story of a monstrous wretch baked in his own bull?
My situation was as bad.

If I recollect aright, he could roar; no such relief was allowed to me.

And I give you my word, Richie, lads both, that while that most infernal Count Fretzel was pouring forth his execrable humdrum, I positively envied the privilege of an old palsied fellow, chief boatman of the forest lake, for, thinks I, hang him! he can nod his head and I can not.

Let me assure you, twenty minutes of an ordeal like that,--one posture, mind you, no raising of your eyelids, taking your breath mechanically, and your heart beating--jumping like an enraged balletdancer boxed in your bosom--a literal description, upon my honour; and not only jumping, jumping every now and then, I may say, with a toe in your throat: I was half-choked:--well, I say, twenty minutes, twenty-seven minutes and a half of that, getting on, in fact, to half-an-hour, it is superhuman!--by heavens, it is heroical! And observe my reward: I have a son--my only one.

I have been divided from him for years; I am establishing his fortune; I know he is provided with comforts: Richie, you remember the woman Waddy?
A faithful soul! She obtained my consent at last--previously I had objections; in fact, your address was withheld from the woman--to call at your school.