⸺’Tis that very thing, Trim , quoth my uncle Toby ,⸺which recommends her to protection⸺and her brethren with her; ’tis the fortune of war which has put the whip into our hands now ⸺where it may be hereafter, heaven knows!⸺but be it where it will, the brave, Trim! will not use it unkindly.
⸺God forbid, said the corporal.
Amen, responded my uncle Toby , laying his hand upon his heart.
The corporal returned to his story, and went on⸺but with an embarrassment in doing it, which here and there a reader in this world will not be able to comprehend; for by the many sudden transitions all along, from one kind and cordial passion to another, in getting thus far on his way, he had lost the sportable key of his voice, which gave sense and spirit to his tale: he attempted twice to resume it, but could not please himself; so giving a stout hem! to rally back the retreating spirits, and aiding nature at the same time with his left arm akimbo on one side, and with his right a little extended, supporting her on the other—the corporal got as near the note as he could; and in that attitude, continued his story.