he holds the forefinger of his left hand between the forefinger and the thumb of his right, and seems as if he was saying to the libertine he is reclaiming⸻“ You grant me this⸺and this: and this, and this, I don’t ask of you—they follow of themselves in course.”
So stood my father, holding fast his forefinger betwixt his finger and his thumb, and reasoning with my uncle Toby as he sat in his old fringed chair, valanced around with particoloured worsted bobs⸺O Garrick! —what a rich scene of this would thy exquisite powers make! and how gladly would I write such another to avail myself of thy immortality, and secure my own behind it.