human
Mr. Cooper. After tea, we walked for a while in the garden. I kept close to his side, and once he addressed me as
gpt
My little master. I returned to school; but that variable, expressive, and interesting countenance I did not forget. In after years, standing, as was my wont, before the shop windows of the London booksellers (I have not _quite_ left off this old habit!), reading the title-pages of tomes that I intensely longed, but had not then the money, to purchase, I recognised at a shop in St. Paul's Churchyard that well-remembered face, prefixed to a volume of poems,
human
The _cap_ (for when I saw
gpt
Mr. Cooper he wore a wig, or his hair, for his age, was unusually luxuriant) was the only thing that puzzled me. To make
human
I hastened to the house of a near relation hard by, and I soon learnt that
gpt
Mr. Cooper