human
instead of feeling himself the Earl of Dreddlington's host, he felt himself as one of his Lordship's inferior guests, struggling in vain against the freezing state and etiquette which the earl carried with him wherever he went, like a sort of atmosphere. In this extremity he secretly clung to Gammon, and reposed upon his powerful support and sympathy more implicitly than ever he had done before. As the shooting season had commenced, and game was plentiful at Yatton, the marquis and Tuft found full occupation during the day, as occasionally did Mr. Gammon. Mr. Titmouse once accompanied them; but having contrived very nearly to blow his own hand off, and also to blow out the eyes of the marquis, it was intimated to him that he had better go out alone for the future--as he did accordingly, but soon got tired of such solitary sport. Besides--hares, pheasants, partridges--old and young, cock or hen--'twas all one--none of them seemed to care one straw for him or his gun, let him pop and blaze away as loud and as long, as near or as far off, as he liked. The only thing he hit--and that plump--was one of his unfortunate dogs, which he killed on the spot; and then coming up with it, stamped upon the poor creature's bleeding carcass, saying with a furious oath--
gpt
Why didn't you keep out of the way, then, you brute?