human
My Uncle in India. The words as I write them convey no idea of the tone in which they fall upon my ears. I think it is the only fault of that estimable woman, that she has an
gpt
and does not let him quietly remain there. I feel quite sure that if I had an uncle in Botany Bay, I should never, never throw him up to Polly in the way mentioned. If there is any jar in our quiet life, he is the cause of it; all along of possible
human
on the one side calculated to overawe the other side not having expectations. And yet I know that if her uncle in India were this night to roll a barrel of
gpt
India's golden sands,