"Is it reservation?"
A shake of the head from Mrs. Snagsby--very long and very tight.
"No, my friends, it is neither of these. Neither of these names belongs to it. When this young heathen now among us--who is now, my friends, asleep, the seal of indifference and perdition being set upon his eyelids; but do not wake him, for it is right that I should have to wrestle, and to combat and to struggle, and to conquer, for his sake--when this young hardened heathen told us a story of a cock, and of a bull, and of a lady, and of a sovereign, was THAT the Terewth? No. Or if it was partly, was it wholly and entirely? No, my friends, no!"
If Mr. Snagsby could withstand his little woman's look as it enters at his eyes, the windows of his soul, and searches the whole tenement, he were other than the man he is. He cowers and droops.

"Is it reservation?"
A shake of the head from Mrs. Snagsby.
"No, my friends, it is none of these. When this young heathen - who is now, my friends, asleep, the seal of indifference and perdition being set upon his eyelids - when this young hardened heathen told us a story of a lady, and of a sovereign, was that wholly the Terewth? No, my friends, no!"
Mr. Snagsby, at his little woman's look, cowers and droops.
