He owns a great rural manor and he is undeniably gentry, but he is also a ruddy-faced, curly-haired, country clot. He snores in church, he eats with his fingers. He drinks and drinks and drinks some more from great pewter tank ards; when angered, he absentmindedly dashes beer into the face of a bulldog. He grabs young wenches by the backs of their skirts and topples them onto piles of new-mown hay. He is up to his pointed chin in geese, cattle, ducks, pigs, horses, and a yelping nation of dogs. Mornings,...
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