and I had no hope of him whenever he took to that placid occupation; “your sister's a master-mind. A master-mind.”
“What's that?” I asked, in some hope of bringing him to a stand. But Joe was readier with his definition than I had expected, and completely stopped me by arguing circularly, and answering with a fixed look, “Her.”
“And I ain't a master-mind,” Joe resumed, when he had unfixed his look, and got back to his whisker.
“And last of all, Pip, — and this I want to say very serious to you, old chap, — I see so much in my poor mother, of a woman drudging and slaving and breaking her honest hart and never getting no peace in her mortal days, that I'm dead