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| 1 | My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence - the
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| 2 | unseen, unfelt progress of my life - from childhood up to youth!
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| 3 | Let me think, as I look back upon that flowing water, now a dry
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| 4 | channel overgrown with leaves, whether there are any marks along
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| 5 | its course, by which I can remember how it ran.
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| 6 | A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral, where we all went
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| 7 | together, every Sunday morning, assembling first at school for that
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| 8 | purpose. The earthy smell, the sunless air, the sensation of the
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| 9 | world being shut out, the resounding of the organ through the black
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| 10 | and white arched galleries and aisles, are wings that take me back,
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| 11 | and hold me hovering above those days, in a half-sleeping and
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| 12 | half-waking dream.
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| 13 | I am not the last boy in the school. I have risen in a few months,
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| 14 | over several heads. But the first boy seems to me a mighty
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| 15 | creature, dwelling afar off, whose giddy height is unattainable.
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| 16 | Agnes says 'No,' but I say 'Yes,' and tell her that she little
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| 17 | thinks what stores of knowledge have been mastered by the wonderful
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| 18 | Being, at whose place she thinks I, even I, weak aspirant, may
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| 19 | arrive in time. He is not my private friend and public patron, as
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| 20 | Steerforth was, but I hold him in a reverential respect. I chiefly
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| 21 | wonder what he'll be, when he leaves Doctor Strong's, and what
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| 22 | mankind will do to maintain any place against him.
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| 23 | But who is this that breaks upon me? This is Miss Shepherd, whom
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| 24 | I love.
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| 25 | Miss Shepherd is a boarder at the Misses Nettingalls'
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| 26 | establishment. I adore Miss Shepherd. She is a little girl, in a
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| 27 | spencer, with a round face and curly flaxen hair. The Misses
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| 28 | Nettingalls' young ladies come to the Cathedral too. I cannot look
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| 29 | upon my book, for I must look upon Miss Shepherd. When the
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| 30 | choristers chaunt, I hear Miss Shepherd. In the service I mentally
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| 31 | insert Miss Shepherd's name - I put her in among the Royal Family.
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| 32 | At home, in my own room, I am sometimes moved to cry out, 'Oh, Miss
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| 33 | Shepherd!' in a transport of love.
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| 34 | For some time, I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd's feelings, but, at
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| 35 | length, Fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing-school. I
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| 36 | have Miss Shepherd for my partner. I touch Miss Shepherd's glove,
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| 37 | and feel a thrill go up the right arm of my jacket, and come out at
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| 38 | my hair. I say nothing to Miss Shepherd, but we understand each
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| 39 | other. Miss Shepherd and myself live but to be united.
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| 40 | Why do I secretly give Miss Shepherd twelve Brazil nuts for a
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| 41 | present, I wonder? They are not expressive of affection, they are
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| 42 | difficult to pack into a parcel of any regular shape, they are hard
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| 43 | to crack, even in room doors, and they are oily when cracked; yet
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| 44 | I feel that they are appropriate to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy
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| 45 | biscuits, also, I bestow upon Miss Shepherd; and oranges
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| 46 | innumerable. Once, I kiss Miss Shepherd in the cloak-room.
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| 47 | Ecstasy! What are my agony and indignation next day, when I hear
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| 48 | a flying rumour that the Misses Nettingall have stood Miss Shepherd
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| 49 | in the stocks for turning in her toes!
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| 50 | Miss Shepherd being the one pervading theme and vision of my life,
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| 51 | how do I ever come to break with her? I can't conceive. And yet
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| 52 | a coolness grows between Miss Shepherd and myself. Whispers reach
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| 53 | me of Miss Shepherd having said she wished I wouldn't stare so, and
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| 54 | having avowed a preference for Master Jones - for Jones! a boy of
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| 55 | no merit whatever! The gulf between me and Miss Shepherd widens.
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| 56 | At last, one day, I meet the Misses Nettingalls' establishment out
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| 57 | walking. Miss Shepherd makes a face as she goes by, and laughs to
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| 58 | her companion. All is over. The devotion of a life - it seems a
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| 59 | life, it is all the same - is at an end; Miss Shepherd comes out of
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| 60 | the morning service, and the Royal Family know her no more.
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| 61 | I am higher in the school, and no one breaks my peace. I am not at
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| 62 | all polite, now, to the Misses Nettingalls' young ladies, and
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| 63 | shouldn't dote on any of them, if they were twice as many and
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| 64 | twenty times as beautiful. I think the dancing-school a tiresome
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| 65 | affair, and wonder why the girls can't dance by themselves and
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| 66 | leave us alone. I am growing great in Latin verses, and neglect
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| 67 | the laces of my boots. Doctor Strong refers to me in public as a
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| 68 | promising young scholar. Mr. Dick is wild with joy, and my aunt
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| 69 | remits me a guinea by the next post.
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| 70 | The shade of a young butcher rises, like the apparition of an armed
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| 71 | head in Macbeth. Who is this young butcher? He is the terror of
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| 72 | the youth of Canterbury. There is a vague belief abroad, that the
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| 73 | beef suet with which he anoints his hair gives him unnatural
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| 74 | strength, and that he is a match for a man. He is a broad-faced,
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| 75 | bull-necked, young butcher, with rough red cheeks, an
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| 76 | ill-conditioned mind, and an injurious tongue. His main use of
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| 77 | this tongue, is, to disparage Doctor Strong's young gentlemen. He
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| 78 | says, publicly, that if they want anything he'll give it 'em. He
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| 79 | names individuals among them (myself included), whom he could
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| 80 | undertake to settle with one hand, and the other tied behind him.
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| 81 | He waylays the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads, and
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| 82 | calls challenges after me in the open streets. For these
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| 83 | sufficient reasons I resolve to fight the butcher.
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| 84 | It is a summer evening, down in a green hollow, at the corner of a
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| 85 | wall. I meet the butcher by appointment. I am attended by a
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| 86 | select body of our boys; the butcher, by two other butchers, a
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| 87 | young publican, and a sweep. The preliminaries are adjusted, and
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| 88 | the butcher and myself stand face to face. In a moment the butcher
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| 89 | lights ten thousand candles out of my left eyebrow. In another
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| 90 | moment, I don't know where the wall is, or where I am, or where
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| 91 | anybody is. I hardly know which is myself and which the butcher,
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| 92 | we are always in such a tangle and tussle, knocking about upon the
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| 93 | trodden grass. Sometimes I see the butcher, bloody but confident;
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| 94 | sometimes I see nothing, and sit gasping on my second's knee;
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| 95 | sometimes I go in at the butcher madly, and cut my knuckles open
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| 96 | against his face, without appearing to discompose him at all. At
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| 97 | last I awake, very queer about the head, as from a giddy sleep, and
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| 98 | see the butcher walking off, congratulated by the two other
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| 99 | butchers and the sweep and publican, and putting on his coat as he
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| 100 | goes; from which I augur, justly, that the victory is his.
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| 101 | I am taken home in a sad plight, and I have beef-steaks put to my
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| 102 | eyes, and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy, and find a great puffy
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| 103 | place bursting out on my upper lip, which swells immoderately. For
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| 104 | three or four days I remain at home, a very ill-looking subject,
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| 105 | with a green shade over my eyes; and I should be very dull, but
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| 106 | that Agnes is a sister to me, and condoles with me, and reads to
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| 107 | me, and makes the time light and happy. Agnes has my confidence
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| 108 | completely, always; I tell her all about the butcher, and the
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| 109 | wrongs he has heaped upon me; she thinks I couldn't have done
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| 110 | otherwise than fight the butcher, while she shrinks and trembles at
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| 111 | my having fought him.
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| 112 | Time has stolen on unobserved, for Adams is not the head-boy in the
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| 113 | days that are come now, nor has he been this many and many a day.
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| 114 | Adams has left the school so long, that when he comes back, on a
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| 115 | visit to Doctor Strong, there are not many there, besides myself,
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| 116 | who know him. Adams is going to be called to the bar almost
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| 117 | directly, and is to be an advocate, and to wear a wig. I am
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| 118 | surprised to find him a meeker man than I had thought, and less
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| 119 | imposing in appearance. He has not staggered the world yet,
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| 120 | either; for it goes on (as well as I can make out) pretty much the
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| 121 | same as if he had never joined it.
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| 122 | A blank, through which the warriors of poetry and history march on
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| 123 | in stately hosts that seem to have no end - and what comes next!
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| 124 | I am the head-boy, now! I look down on the line of boys below me,
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| 125 | with a condescending interest in such of them as bring to my mind
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| 126 | the boy I was myself, when I first came there. That little fellow
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| 127 | seems to be no part of me; I remember him as something left behind
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| 128 | upon the road of life - as something I have passed, rather than
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| 129 | have actually been - and almost think of him as of someone else.
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| 130 | And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's,
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| 131 | where is she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of
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| 132 | the picture, a child likeness no more, moves about the house; and
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| 133 | Agnes - my sweet sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my
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| 134 | counsellor and friend, the better angel of the lives of all who
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| 135 | come within her calm, good, self-denying influence - is quite a
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| 136 | woman.
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| 137 | What other changes have come upon me, besides the changes in my
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| 138 | growth and looks, and in the knowledge I have garnered all this
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| 139 | while? I wear a gold watch and chain, a ring upon my little
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| 140 | finger, and a long-tailed coat; and I use a great deal of bear's
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| 141 | grease - which, taken in conjunction with the ring, looks bad. Am
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| 142 | I in love again? I am. I worship the eldest Miss Larkins.
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| 143 | The eldest Miss Larkins is not a little girl. She is a tall, dark,
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| 144 | black-eyed, fine figure of a woman. The eldest Miss Larkins is not
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| 145 | a chicken; for the youngest Miss Larkins is not that, and the
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| 146 | eldest must be three or four years older. Perhaps the eldest Miss
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| 147 | Larkins may be about thirty. My passion for her is beyond all
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| 148 | bounds.
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| 149 | The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful thing to
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| 150 | bear. I see them speaking to her in the street. I see them cross
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| 151 | the way to meet her, when her bonnet (she has a bright taste in
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| 152 | bonnets) is seen coming down the pavement, accompanied by her
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| 153 | sister's bonnet. She laughs and talks, and seems to like it. I
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| 154 | spend a good deal of my own spare time in walking up and down to
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| 155 | meet her. If I can bow to her once in the day (I know her to bow
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| 156 | to, knowing Mr. Larkins), I am happier. I deserve a bow now and
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| 157 | then. The raging agonies I suffer on the night of the Race Ball,
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| 158 | where I know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing with the
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| 159 | military, ought to have some compensation, if there be even-handed
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| 160 | justice in the world.
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| 161 | My passion takes away my appetite, and makes me wear my newest silk
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| 162 | neckerchief continually. I have no relief but in putting on my
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| 163 | best clothes, and having my boots cleaned over and over again. I
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| 164 | seem, then, to be worthier of the eldest Miss Larkins. Everything
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| 165 | that belongs to her, or is connected with her, is precious to me.
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| 166 | Mr. Larkins (a gruff old gentleman with a double chin, and one of
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| 167 | his eyes immovable in his head) is fraught with interest to me.
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| 168 | When I can't meet his daughter, I go where I am likely to meet him.
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| 169 | To say 'How do you do, Mr. Larkins? Are the young ladies and all
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| 170 | the family quite well?' seems so pointed, that I blush.
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| 171 | I think continually about my age. Say I am seventeen, and say that
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| 172 | seventeen is young for the eldest Miss Larkins, what of that?
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| 173 | Besides, I shall be one-and-twenty in no time almost. I regularly
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| 174 | take walks outside Mr. Larkins's house in the evening, though it
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| 175 | cuts me to the heart to see the officers go in, or to hear them up
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| 176 | in the drawing-room, where the eldest Miss Larkins plays the harp.
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| 177 | I even walk, on two or three occasions, in a sickly, spoony manner,
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| 178 | round and round the house after the family are gone to bed,
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| 179 | wondering which is the eldest Miss Larkins's chamber (and pitching,
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| 180 | I dare say now, on Mr. Larkins's instead); wishing that a fire
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| 181 | would burst out; that the assembled crowd would stand appalled;
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| 182 | that I, dashing through them with a ladder, might rear it against
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| 183 | her window, save her in my arms, go back for something she had left
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| 184 | behind, and perish in the flames. For I am generally disinterested
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| 185 | in my love, and think I could be content to make a figure before
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| 186 | Miss Larkins, and expire.
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| 187 | Generally, but not always. Sometimes brighter visions rise before
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| 188 | me. When I dress (the occupation of two hours), for a great ball
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| 189 | given at the Larkins's (the anticipation of three weeks), I indulge
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| 190 | my fancy with pleasing images. I picture myself taking courage to
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| 191 | make a declaration to Miss Larkins. I picture Miss Larkins sinking
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| 192 | her head upon my shoulder, and saying, 'Oh, Mr. Copperfield, can I
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| 193 | believe my ears!' I picture Mr. Larkins waiting on me next morning,
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| 194 | and saying, 'My dear Copperfield, my daughter has told me all.
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| 195 | Youth is no objection. Here are twenty thousand pounds. Be
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| 196 | happy!' I picture my aunt relenting, and blessing us; and Mr. Dick
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| 197 | and Doctor Strong being present at the marriage ceremony. I am a
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| 198 | sensible fellow, I believe - I believe, on looking back, I mean -
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| 199 | and modest I am sure; but all this goes on notwithstanding.
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| 200 | I repair to the enchanted house, where there are lights,
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| 201 | chattering, music, flowers, officers (I am sorry to see), and the
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| 202 | eldest Miss Larkins, a blaze of beauty. She is dressed in blue,
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| 203 | with blue flowers in her hair - forget-me-nots - as if SHE had any
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| 204 | need to wear forget-me-nots. It is the first really grown-up party
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| 205 | that I have ever been invited to, and I am a little uncomfortable;
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| 206 | for I appear not to belong to anybody, and nobody appears to have
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| 207 | anything to say to me, except Mr. Larkins, who asks me how my
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| 208 | schoolfellows are, which he needn't do, as I have not come there to
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| 209 | be insulted.
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| 210 | But after I have stood in the doorway for some time, and feasted my
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| 211 | eyes upon the goddess of my heart, she approaches me - she, the
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| 212 | eldest Miss Larkins! - and asks me pleasantly, if I dance?
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| 213 | I stammer, with a bow, 'With you, Miss Larkins.'
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| 214 | 'With no one else?' inquires Miss Larkins.
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| 215 | 'I should have no pleasure in dancing with anyone else.'
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| 216 | Miss Larkins laughs and blushes (or I think she blushes), and says,
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| 217 | 'Next time but one, I shall be very glad.'
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| 218 | The time arrives. 'It is a waltz, I think,' Miss Larkins
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| 219 | doubtfully observes, when I present myself. 'Do you waltz? If
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| 220 | not, Captain Bailey -'
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| 221 | But I do waltz (pretty well, too, as it happens), and I take Miss
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| 222 | Larkins out. I take her sternly from the side of Captain Bailey.
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| 223 | He is wretched, I have no doubt; but he is nothing to me. I have
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| 224 | been wretched, too. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins! I don't
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| 225 | know where, among whom, or how long. I only know that I swim about
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| 226 | in space, with a blue angel, in a state of blissful delirium, until
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| 227 | I find myself alone with her in a little room, resting on a sofa.
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| 228 | She admires a flower (pink camellia japonica, price half-a-crown),
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| 229 | in my button-hole. I give it her, and say:
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| 230 | 'I ask an inestimable price for it, Miss Larkins.'
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| 231 | 'Indeed! What is that?' returns Miss Larkins.
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| 232 | 'A flower of yours, that I may treasure it as a miser does gold.'
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| 233 | 'You're a bold boy,' says Miss Larkins. 'There.'
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| 234 | She gives it me, not displeased; and I put it to my lips, and then
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| 235 | into my breast. Miss Larkins, laughing, draws her hand through my
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| 236 | arm, and says, 'Now take me back to Captain Bailey.'
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| 237 | I am lost in the recollection of this delicious interview, and the
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| 238 | waltz, when she comes to me again, with a plain elderly gentleman
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| 239 | who has been playing whist all night, upon her arm, and says:
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| 240 | 'Oh! here is my bold friend! Mr. Chestle wants to know you, Mr.
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| 241 | Copperfield.'
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| 242 | I feel at once that he is a friend of the family, and am much
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| 243 | gratified.
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| 244 | 'I admire your taste, sir,' says Mr. Chestle. 'It does you credit.
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| 245 | I suppose you don't take much interest in hops; but I am a pretty
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| 246 | large grower myself; and if you ever like to come over to our
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| 247 | neighbourhood - neighbourhood of Ashford - and take a run about our
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| 248 | place, -we shall be glad for you to stop as long as you like.'
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| 249 | I thank Mr. Chestle warmly, and shake hands. I think I am in a
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| 250 | happy dream. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins once again. She
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| 251 | says I waltz so well! I go home in a state of unspeakable bliss,
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| 252 | and waltz in imagination, all night long, with my arm round the
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| 253 | blue waist of my dear divinity. For some days afterwards, I am
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| 254 | lost in rapturous reflections; but I neither see her in the street,
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| 255 | nor when I call. I am imperfectly consoled for this disappointment
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| 256 | by the sacred pledge, the perished flower.
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| 257 | 'Trotwood,' says Agnes, one day after dinner. 'Who do you think is
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| 258 | going to be married tomorrow? Someone you admire.'
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| 259 | 'Not you, I suppose, Agnes?'
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| 260 | 'Not me!' raising her cheerful face from the music she is copying.
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| 261 | 'Do you hear him, Papa? - The eldest Miss Larkins.'
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| 262 | 'To - to Captain Bailey?' I have just enough power to ask.
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| 263 | 'No; to no Captain. To Mr. Chestle, a hop-grower.'
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| 264 | I am terribly dejected for about a week or two. I take off my
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| 265 | ring, I wear my worst clothes, I use no bear's grease, and I
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| 266 | frequently lament over the late Miss Larkins's faded flower.
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| 267 | Being, by that time, rather tired of this kind of life, and having
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| 268 | received new provocation from the butcher, I throw the flower away,
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| 269 | go out with the butcher, and gloriously defeat him.
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| 270 | This, and the resumption of my ring, as well as of the bear's
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| 271 | grease in moderation, are the last marks I can discern, now, in my
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| 272 | progress to seventeen.
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