’Enough，John；quiteenough，’hecried，’Icanreaditinthycountenance。Honestyiswrittenthere，andcourageandsimplicity。ButIfearthat，inthistownofLondon，thouartapttobetakeninbypeopleofnoprinciple。Ahme!Ahme!Theworldisbad，andIamtoooldtoimproveit。’
Thenfindinghimsogoodandkind，andanxioustoimprovetheage，Itoldhimalmosteverything；howmuchIpaidthefellmonger，andallthethingsIhadbeentosee；andhowIlongedtogetaway，beforethecornwasripening；yethowdespiteofthesedesiresIfeltmyselfboundtowalkupanddown，beingunderathingcalled’recognisance。’Inshort，Itoldhimeverything；
exceptthenatureofmysummonswhichIhadnorighttotell，andthatIwasoutofmoney。
Mytalewastoldinalittlearchway，apartfromotherlawyers；andtheotherlawyersseemedtometoshiftthemselves，andtolookaskew，likesheepthroughahurdle，whentherestarefeeding。
’What!GoodGod!’mylawyercried，smitinghisbreastindignantlywitharollofsomethinglearned；’inwhatcountrydowelive？Underwhatlawsarewegoverned？