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A passenger in a two-wheeled carriage (a chaise) is being pulled up a steep hill by a pair of horses, the driver, or postilion, is gesturing up the hill.
The postilion managed the point to a miracle: by the time he had got to the foot of a steep hill, about half a league from Nampont, he had put me out of temper with him, and then with myself, for being so.
My case then required a different treatment; and a good rattling gallop would have been of real service to me.
Then, prithee, get on—get on, my good lad, said I.
The postilion pointed to the hill. I then tried to return back to the story of the poor German and his ass; but I had broke the clue, and could no more get into it again, than the postilion could into a trot. (p. 74)