I'm Mr Chatterton, sir; and now, out with your writ—whose suit?
"Not now," said Mr Clayton, softened by my returning warmth.
The prayer concluded, Mr Clayton coldly requested me to retire.
I did not, sir, apply it to a gentleman; I applied it to Mr Chatterton.
He had communicated with Mr Clayton's church for many years.
My brother is hot and fiery; Mr Chatterton is rash and headstrong.
Mr Clayton was pushing me forward, and urging a dagger into my hand.
The door opened, and Mr Clayton himself walked into the room.
Mr Clayton, it seems incredible to me that I can talk thus to you.
I avoided the house of Mr Clayton, and absented myself from his chapel.