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| 1 | The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I
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| 2 | look far back, into the blank of my infancy, are my mother with her
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| 3 | pretty hair and youthful shape, and Peggotty with no shape at all,
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| 4 | and eyes so dark that they seemed to darken their whole
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| 5 | neighbourhood in her face, and cheeks and arms so hard and red that
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| 6 | I wondered the birds didn't peck her in preference to apples.
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| 7 | I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart,
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| 8 | dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the floor, and
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| 9 | I going unsteadily from the one to the other. I have an impression
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| 10 | on my mind which I cannot distinguish from actual remembrance, of
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| 11 | the touch of Peggotty's forefinger as she used to hold it out to
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| 12 | me, and of its being roughened by needlework, like a pocket
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| 13 | nutmeg-grater.
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| 14 | This may be fancy, though I think the memory of most of us can go
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| 15 | farther back into such times than many of us suppose; just as I
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| 16 | believe the power of observation in numbers of very young children
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| 17 | to be quite wonderful for its closeness and accuracy. Indeed, I
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| 18 | think that most grown men who are remarkable in this respect, may
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| 19 | with greater propriety be said not to have lost the faculty, than
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| 20 | to have acquired it; the rather, as I generally observe such men to
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| 21 | retain a certain freshness, and gentleness, and capacity of being
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| 22 | pleased, which are also an inheritance they have preserved from
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| 23 | their childhood.
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| 24 | I might have a misgiving that I am 'meandering' in stopping to say
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| 25 | this, but that it brings me to remark that I build these
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| 26 | conclusions, in part upon my own experience of myself; and if it
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| 27 | should appear from anything I may set down in this narrative that
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| 28 | I was a child of close observation, or that as a man I have a
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| 29 | strong memory of my childhood, I undoubtedly lay claim to both of
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| 30 | these characteristics.
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| 31 | Looking back, as I was saying, into the blank of my infancy, the
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| 32 | first objects I can remember as standing out by themselves from a
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| 33 | confusion of things, are my mother and Peggotty. What else do I
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| 34 | remember? Let me see.
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| 35 | There comes out of the cloud, our house - not new to me, but quite
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| 36 | familiar, in its earliest remembrance. On the ground-floor is
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| 37 | Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house
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| 38 | on a pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-
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| 39 | kennel in a corner, without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that
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| 40 | look terribly tall to me, walking about, in a menacing and
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| 41 | ferocious manner. There is one cock who gets upon a post to crow,
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| 42 | and seems to take particular notice of me as I look at him through
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| 43 | the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is so fierce. Of the
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| 44 | geese outside the side-gate who come waddling after me with their
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| 45 | long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream at night: as
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| 46 | a man environed by wild beasts might dream of lions.
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| 47 | Here is a long passage - what an enormous perspective I make of it!
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| 48 | - leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front door. A dark
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| 49 | store-room opens out of it, and that is a place to be run past at
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| 50 | night; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars and
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| 51 | old tea-chests, when there is nobody in there with a dimly-burning
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| 52 | light, letting a mouldy air come out of the door, in which there is
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| 53 | the smell of soap, pickles, pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one
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| 54 | whiff. Then there are the two parlours: the parlour in which we
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| 55 | sit of an evening, my mother and I and Peggotty - for Peggotty is
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| 56 | quite our companion, when her work is done and we are alone - and
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| 57 | the best parlour where we sit on a Sunday; grandly, but not so
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| 58 | comfortably. There is something of a doleful air about that room
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| 59 | to me, for Peggotty has told me - I don't know when, but apparently
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| 60 | ages ago - about my father's funeral, and the company having their
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| 61 | black cloaks put on. One Sunday night my mother reads to Peggotty
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| 62 | and me in there, how Lazarus was raised up from the dead. And I am
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| 63 | so frightened that they are afterwards obliged to take me out of
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| 64 | bed, and show me the quiet churchyard out of the bedroom window,
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| 65 | with the dead all lying in their graves at rest, below the solemn
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| 66 | moon.
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| 67 | There is nothing half so green that I know anywhere, as the grass
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| 68 | of that churchyard; nothing half so shady as its trees; nothing
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| 69 | half so quiet as its tombstones. The sheep are feeding there, when
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| 70 | I kneel up, early in the morning, in my little bed in a closet
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| 71 | within my mother's room, to look out at it; and I see the red light
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| 72 | shining on the sun-dial, and think within myself, 'Is the sun-dial
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| 73 | glad, I wonder, that it can tell the time again?'
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| 74 | Here is our pew in the church. What a high-backed pew! With a
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| 75 | window near it, out of which our house can be seen, and IS seen
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| 76 | many times during the morning's service, by Peggotty, who likes to
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| 77 | make herself as sure as she can that it's not being robbed, or is
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| 78 | not in flames. But though Peggotty's eye wanders, she is much
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| 79 | offended if mine does, and frowns to me, as I stand upon the seat,
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| 80 | that I am to look at the clergyman. But I can't always look at him
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| 81 | - I know him without that white thing on, and I am afraid of his
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| 82 | wondering why I stare so, and perhaps stopping the service to
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| 83 | inquire - and what am I to do? It's a dreadful thing to gape, but
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| 84 | I must do something. I look at my mother, but she pretends not to
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| 85 | see me. I look at a boy in the aisle, and he makes faces at me.
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| 86 | I look at the sunlight coming in at the open door through the
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| 87 | porch, and there I see a stray sheep - I don't mean a sinner, but
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| 88 | mutton - half making up his mind to come into the church. I feel
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| 89 | that if I looked at him any longer, I might be tempted to say
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| 90 | something out loud; and what would become of me then! I look up at
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| 91 | the monumental tablets on the wall, and try to think of Mr. Bodgers
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| 92 | late of this parish, and what the feelings of Mrs. Bodgers must
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| 93 | have been, when affliction sore, long time Mr. Bodgers bore, and
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| 94 | physicians were in vain. I wonder whether they called in Mr.
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| 95 | Chillip, and he was in vain; and if so, how he likes to be reminded
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| 96 | of it once a week. I look from Mr. Chillip, in his Sunday
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| 97 | neckcloth, to the pulpit; and think what a good place it would be
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| 98 | to play in, and what a castle it would make, with another boy
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| 99 | coming up the stairs to attack it, and having the velvet cushion
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| 100 | with the tassels thrown down on his head. In time my eyes
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| 101 | gradually shut up; and, from seeming to hear the clergyman singing
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| 102 | a drowsy song in the heat, I hear nothing, until I fall off the
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| 103 | seat with a crash, and am taken out, more dead than alive, by
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| 104 | Peggotty.
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| 105 | And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed
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| 106 | bedroom-windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling air, and
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| 107 | the ragged old rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm-trees at the
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| 108 | bottom of the front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back,
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| 109 | beyond the yard where the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are -
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| 110 | a very preserve of butterflies, as I remember it, with a high
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| 111 | fence, and a gate and padlock; where the fruit clusters on the
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| 112 | trees, riper and richer than fruit has ever been since, in any
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| 113 | other garden, and where my mother gathers some in a basket, while
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| 114 | I stand by, bolting furtive gooseberries, and trying to look
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| 115 | unmoved. A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment.
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| 116 | We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlour.
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| 117 | When my mother is out of breath and rests herself in an
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| 118 | elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls round her
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| 119 | fingers, and straitening her waist, and nobody knows better than I
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| 120 | do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty.
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| 121 | That is among my very earliest impressions. That, and a sense that
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| 122 | we were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submitted ourselves
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| 123 | in most things to her direction, were among the first opinions - if
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| 124 | they may be so called - that I ever derived from what I saw.
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| 125 | Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlour fire, alone.
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| 126 | I had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I must have read
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| 127 | very perspicuously, or the poor soul must have been deeply
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| 128 | interested, for I remember she had a cloudy impression, after I had
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| 129 | done, that they were a sort of vegetable. I was tired of reading,
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| 130 | and dead sleepy; but having leave, as a high treat, to sit up until
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| 131 | my mother came home from spending the evening at a neighbour's, I
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| 132 | would rather have died upon my post (of course) than have gone to
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| 133 | bed. I had reached that stage of sleepiness when Peggotty seemed
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| 134 | to swell and grow immensely large. I propped my eyelids open with
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| 135 | my two forefingers, and looked perseveringly at her as she sat at
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| 136 | work; at the little bit of wax-candle she kept for her thread - how
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| 137 | old it looked, being so wrinkled in all directions! - at the little
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| 138 | house with a thatched roof, where the yard-measure lived; at her
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| 139 | work-box with a sliding lid, with a view of St. Paul's Cathedral
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| 140 | (with a pink dome) painted on the top; at the brass thimble on her
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| 141 | finger; at herself, whom I thought lovely. I felt so sleepy, that
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| 142 | I knew if I lost sight of anything for a moment, I was gone.
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| 143 | 'Peggotty,' says I, suddenly, 'were you ever married?'
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| 144 | 'Lord, Master Davy,' replied Peggotty. 'What's put marriage in
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| 145 | your head?'
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| 146 | She answered with such a start, that it quite awoke me. And then
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| 147 | she stopped in her work, and looked at me, with her needle drawn
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| 148 | out to its thread's length.
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| 149 | 'But WERE you ever married, Peggotty?' says I. 'You are a very
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| 150 | handsome woman, an't you?'
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| 151 | I thought her in a different style from my mother, certainly; but
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| 152 | of another school of beauty, I considered her a perfect example.
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| 153 | There was a red velvet footstool in the best parlour, on which my
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| 154 | mother had painted a nosegay. The ground-work of that stool, and
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| 155 | Peggotty's complexion appeared to me to be one and the same thing.
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| 156 | The stool was smooth, and Peggotty was rough, but that made no
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| 157 | difference.
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| 158 | 'Me handsome, Davy!' said Peggotty. 'Lawk, no, my dear! But what
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| 159 | put marriage in your head?'
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| 160 | 'I don't know! - You mustn't marry more than one person at a time,
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| 161 | may you, Peggotty?'
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| 162 | 'Certainly not,' says Peggotty, with the promptest decision.
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| 163 | 'But if you marry a person, and the person dies, why then you may
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| 164 | marry another person, mayn't you, Peggotty?'
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| 165 | 'YOU MAY,' says Peggotty, 'if you choose, my dear. That's a matter
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| 166 | of opinion.'
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| 167 | 'But what is your opinion, Peggotty?' said I.
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| 168 | I asked her, and looked curiously at her, because she looked so
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| 169 | curiously at me.
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| 170 | 'My opinion is,' said Peggotty, taking her eyes from me, after a
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| 171 | little indecision and going on with her work, 'that I never was
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| 172 | married myself, Master Davy, and that I don't expect to be. That's
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| 173 | all I know about the subject.'
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| 174 | 'You an't cross, I suppose, Peggotty, are you?' said I, after
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| 175 | sitting quiet for a minute.
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| 176 | I really thought she was, she had been so short with me; but I was
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| 177 | quite mistaken: for she laid aside her work (which was a stocking
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| 178 | of her own), and opening her arms wide, took my curly head within
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| 179 | them, and gave it a good squeeze. I know it was a good squeeze,
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| 180 | because, being very plump, whenever she made any little exertion
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| 181 | after she was dressed, some of the buttons on the back of her gown
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| 182 | flew off. And I recollect two bursting to the opposite side of the
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| 183 | parlour, while she was hugging me.
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| 184 | 'Now let me hear some more about the Crorkindills,' said Peggotty,
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| 185 | who was not quite right in the name yet, 'for I an't heard half
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| 186 | enough.'
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| 187 | I couldn't quite understand why Peggotty looked so queer, or why
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| 188 | she was so ready to go back to the crocodiles. However, we
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| 189 | returned to those monsters, with fresh wakefulness on my part, and
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| 190 | we left their eggs in the sand for the sun to hatch; and we ran
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| 191 | away from them, and baffled them by constantly turning, which they
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| 192 | were unable to do quickly, on account of their unwieldy make; and
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| 193 | we went into the water after them, as natives, and put sharp pieces
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| 194 | of timber down their throats; and in short we ran the whole
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| 195 | crocodile gauntlet. I did, at least; but I had my doubts of
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| 196 | Peggotty, who was thoughtfully sticking her needle into various
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| 197 | parts of her face and arms, all the time.
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| 198 | We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with the alligators,
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| 199 | when the garden-bell rang. We went out to the door; and there was
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| 200 | my mother, looking unusually pretty, I thought, and with her a
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| 201 | gentleman with beautiful black hair and whiskers, who had walked
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| 202 | home with us from church last Sunday.
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| 203 | As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms
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| 204 | and kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged
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| 205 | little fellow than a monarch - or something like that; for my later
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| 206 | understanding comes, I am sensible, to my aid here.
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| 207 | 'What does that mean?' I asked him, over her shoulder.
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| 208 | He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn't like him or his
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| 209 | deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my
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| 210 | mother's in touching me - which it did. I put it away, as well as
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| 211 | I could.
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| 212 | 'Oh, Davy!' remonstrated my mother.
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| 213 | 'Dear boy!' said the gentleman. 'I cannot wonder at his devotion!'
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| 214 | I never saw such a beautiful colour on my mother's face before.
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| 215 | She gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her
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| 216 | shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for taking so much trouble as
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| 217 | to bring her home. She put out her hand to him as she spoke, and,
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| 218 | as he met it with his own, she glanced, I thought, at me.
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| 219 | 'Let us say "good night", my fine boy,' said the gentleman, when he
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| 220 | had bent his head - I saw him! - over my mother's little glove.
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| 221 | 'Good night!' said I.
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| 222 | 'Come! Let us be the best friends in the world!' said the
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| 223 | gentleman, laughing. 'Shake hands!'
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| 224 | My right hand was in my mother's left, so I gave him the other.
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| 225 | 'Why, that's the Wrong hand, Davy!' laughed the gentleman.
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| 226 | MY mother drew my right hand forward, but I was resolved, for my
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| 227 | former reason, not to give it him, and I did not. I gave him the
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| 228 | other, and he shook it heartily, and said I was a brave fellow, and
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| 229 | went away.
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| 230 | At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give us a
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| 231 | last look with his ill-omened black eyes, before the door was shut.
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| 232 | Peggotty, who had not said a word or moved a finger, secured the
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| 233 | fastenings instantly, and we all went into the parlour. My mother,
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| 234 | contrary to her usual habit, instead of coming to the elbow-chair
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| 235 | by the fire, remained at the other end of the room, and sat singing
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| 236 | to herself.
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| 237 | - 'Hope you have had a pleasant evening, ma'am,' said Peggotty,
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| 238 | standing as stiff as a barrel in the centre of the room, with a
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| 239 | candlestick in her hand.
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| 240 | 'Much obliged to you, Peggotty,' returned my mother, in a cheerful
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| 241 | voice, 'I have had a VERY pleasant evening.'
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| 242 | 'A stranger or so makes an agreeable change,' suggested Peggotty.
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| 243 | 'A very agreeable change, indeed,' returned my mother.
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| 244 | Peggotty continuing to stand motionless in the middle of the room,
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| 245 | and my mother resuming her singing, I fell asleep, though I was not
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| 246 | so sound asleep but that I could hear voices, without hearing what
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| 247 | they said. When I half awoke from this uncomfortable doze, I found
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| 248 | Peggotty and my mother both in tears, and both talking.
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| 249 | 'Not such a one as this, Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have liked,' said
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| 250 | Peggotty. 'That I say, and that I swear!'
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| 251 | 'Good Heavens!' cried my mother, 'you'll drive me mad! Was ever
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| 252 | any poor girl so ill-used by her servants as I am! Why do I do
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| 253 | myself the injustice of calling myself a girl? Have I never been
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| 254 | married, Peggotty?'
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| 255 | 'God knows you have, ma'am,' returned Peggotty.
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| 256 | 'Then, how can you dare,' said my mother - 'you know I don't mean
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| 257 | how can you dare, Peggotty, but how can you have the heart - to
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| 258 | make me so uncomfortable and say such bitter things to me, when you
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| 259 | are well aware that I haven't, out of this place, a single friend
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| 260 | to turn to?'
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| 261 | 'The more's the reason,' returned Peggotty, 'for saying that it
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| 262 | won't do. No! That it won't do. No! No price could make it do.
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| 263 | No!' - I thought Peggotty would have thrown the candlestick away,
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| 264 | she was so emphatic with it.
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| 265 | 'How can you be so aggravating,' said my mother, shedding more
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| 266 | tears than before, 'as to talk in such an unjust manner! How can
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| 267 | you go on as if it was all settled and arranged, Peggotty, when I
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| 268 | tell you over and over again, you cruel thing, that beyond the
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| 269 | commonest civilities nothing has passed! You talk of admiration.
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| 270 | What am I to do? If people are so silly as to indulge the
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| 271 | sentiment, is it my fault? What am I to do, I ask you? Would you
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| 272 | wish me to shave my head and black my face, or disfigure myself
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| 273 | with a burn, or a scald, or something of that sort? I dare say you
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| 274 | would, Peggotty. I dare say you'd quite enjoy it.'
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| 275 | Peggotty seemed to take this aspersion very much to heart, I
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| 276 | thought.
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| 277 | 'And my dear boy,' cried my mother, coming to the elbow-chair in
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| 278 | which I was, and caressing me, 'my own little Davy! Is it to be
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| 279 | hinted to me that I am wanting in affection for my precious
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| 280 | treasure, the dearest little fellow that ever was!'
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| 281 | 'Nobody never went and hinted no such a thing,' said Peggotty.
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| 282 | 'You did, Peggotty!' returned my mother. 'You know you did. What
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| 283 | else was it possible to infer from what you said, you unkind
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| 284 | creature, when you know as well as I do, that on his account only
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| 285 | last quarter I wouldn't buy myself a new parasol, though that old
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| 286 | green one is frayed the whole way up, and the fringe is perfectly
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| 287 | mangy? You know it is, Peggotty. You can't deny it.' Then,
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| 288 | turning affectionately to me, with her cheek against mine, 'Am I a
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| 289 | naughty mama to you, Davy? Am I a nasty, cruel, selfish, bad mama?
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| 290 | Say I am, my child; say "yes", dear boy, and Peggotty will love
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| 291 | you; and Peggotty's love is a great deal better than mine, Davy.
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| 292 | I don't love you at all, do I?'
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| 293 | At this, we all fell a-crying together. I think I was the loudest
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| 294 | of the party, but I am sure we were all sincere about it. I was
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| 295 | quite heart-broken myself, and am afraid that in the first
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| 296 | transports of wounded tenderness I called Peggotty a 'Beast'. That
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| 297 | honest creature was in deep affliction, I remember, and must have
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| 298 | become quite buttonless on the occasion; for a little volley of
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| 299 | those explosives went off, when, after having made it up with my
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| 300 | mother, she kneeled down by the elbow-chair, and made it up with
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| 301 | me.
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| 302 | We went to bed greatly dejected. My sobs kept waking me, for a
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| 303 | long time; and when one very strong sob quite hoisted me up in bed,
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| 304 | I found my mother sitting on the coverlet, and leaning over me. I
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| 305 | fell asleep in her arms, after that, and slept soundly.
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| 306 | Whether it was the following Sunday when I saw the gentleman again,
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| 307 | or whether there was any greater lapse of time before he
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| 308 | reappeared, I cannot recall. I don't profess to be clear about
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| 309 | dates. But there he was, in church, and he walked home with us
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| 310 | afterwards. He came in, too, to look at a famous geranium we had,
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| 311 | in the parlour-window. It did not appear to me that he took much
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| 312 | notice of it, but before he went he asked my mother to give him a
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| 313 | bit of the blossom. She begged him to choose it for himself, but
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| 314 | he refused to do that - I could not understand why - so she plucked
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| 315 | it for him, and gave it into his hand. He said he would never,
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| 316 | never part with it any more; and I thought he must be quite a fool
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| 317 | not to know that it would fall to pieces in a day or two.
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| 318 | Peggotty began to be less with us, of an evening, than she had
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| 319 | always been. My mother deferred to her very much - more than
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| 320 | usual, it occurred to me - and we were all three excellent friends;
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| 321 | still we were different from what we used to be, and were not so
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| 322 | comfortable among ourselves. Sometimes I fancied that Peggotty
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| 323 | perhaps objected to my mother's wearing all the pretty dresses she
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| 324 | had in her drawers, or to her going so often to visit at that
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| 325 | neighbour's; but I couldn't, to my satisfaction, make out how it
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| 326 | was.
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| 327 | Gradually, I became used to seeing the gentleman with the black
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| 328 | whiskers. I liked him no better than at first, and had the same
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| 329 | uneasy jealousy of him; but if I had any reason for it beyond a
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| 330 | child's instinctive dislike, and a general idea that Peggotty and
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| 331 | I could make much of my mother without any help, it certainly was
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| 332 | not THE reason that I might have found if I had been older. No
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| 333 | such thing came into my mind, or near it. I could observe, in
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| 334 | little pieces, as it were; but as to making a net of a number of
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| 335 | these pieces, and catching anybody in it, that was, as yet, beyond
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| 336 | me.
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| 337 | One autumn morning I was with my mother in the front garden, when
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| 338 | Mr. Murdstone - I knew him by that name now - came by, on
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| 339 | horseback. He reined up his horse to salute my mother, and said he
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| 340 | was going to Lowestoft to see some friends who were there with a
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| 341 | yacht, and merrily proposed to take me on the saddle before him if
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| 342 | I would like the ride.
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| 343 | The air was so clear and pleasant, and the horse seemed to like the
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| 344 | idea of the ride so much himself, as he stood snorting and pawing
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| 345 | at the garden-gate, that I had a great desire to go. So I was sent
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| 346 | upstairs to Peggotty to be made spruce; and in the meantime Mr.
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| 347 | Murdstone dismounted, and, with his horse's bridle drawn over his
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| 348 | arm, walked slowly up and down on the outer side of the sweetbriar
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| 349 | fence, while my mother walked slowly up and down on the inner to
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| 350 | keep him company. I recollect Peggotty and I peeping out at them
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| 351 | from my little window; I recollect how closely they seemed to be
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| 352 | examining the sweetbriar between them, as they strolled along; and
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| 353 | how, from being in a perfectly angelic temper, Peggotty turned
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| 354 | cross in a moment, and brushed my hair the wrong way, excessively
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| 355 | hard.
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| 356 | Mr. Murdstone and I were soon off, and trotting along on the green
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| 357 | turf by the side of the road. He held me quite easily with one
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| 358 | arm, and I don't think I was restless usually; but I could not make
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| 359 | up my mind to sit in front of him without turning my head
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| 360 | sometimes, and looking up in his face. He had that kind of shallow
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| 361 | black eye - I want a better word to express an eye that has no
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| 362 | depth in it to be looked into - which, when it is abstracted, seems
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| 363 | from some peculiarity of light to be disfigured, for a moment at a
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| 364 | time, by a cast. Several times when I glanced at him, I observed
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| 365 | that appearance with a sort of awe, and wondered what he was
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| 366 | thinking about so closely. His hair and whiskers were blacker and
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| 367 | thicker, looked at so near, than even I had given them credit for
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| 368 | being. A squareness about the lower part of his face, and the
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| 369 | dotted indication of the strong black beard he shaved close every
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| 370 | day, reminded me of the wax-work that had travelled into our
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| 371 | neighbourhood some half-a-year before. This, his regular eyebrows,
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| 372 | and the rich white, and black, and brown, of his complexion -
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| 373 | confound his complexion, and his memory! - made me think him, in
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| 374 | spite of my misgivings, a very handsome man. I have no doubt that
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| 375 | my poor dear mother thought him so too.
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| 376 | We went to an hotel by the sea, where two gentlemen were smoking
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| 377 | cigars in a room by themselves. Each of them was lying on at least
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| 378 | four chairs, and had a large rough jacket on. In a corner was a
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| 379 | heap of coats and boat-cloaks, and a flag, all bundled up together.
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| 380 | They both rolled on to their feet in an untidy sort of manner, when
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| 381 | we came in, and said, 'Halloa, Murdstone! We thought you were
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| 382 | dead!'
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| 383 | 'Not yet,' said Mr. Murdstone.
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| 384 | 'And who's this shaver?' said one of the gentlemen, taking hold of
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| 385 | me.
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| 386 | 'That's Davy,' returned Mr. Murdstone.
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| 387 | 'Davy who?' said the gentleman. 'Jones?'
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| 388 | 'Copperfield,' said Mr. Murdstone.
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| 389 | 'What! Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield's encumbrance?' cried the
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| 390 | gentleman. 'The pretty little widow?'
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| 391 | 'Quinion,' said Mr. Murdstone, 'take care, if you please.
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| 392 | Somebody's sharp.'
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| 393 | 'Who is?' asked the gentleman, laughing.
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| 394 | I looked up, quickly; being curious to know.
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| 395 | 'Only Brooks of Sheffield,' said Mr. Murdstone.
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| 396 | I was quite relieved to find that it was only Brooks of Sheffield;
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| 397 | for, at first, I really thought it was I.
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| 398 | There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of Mr.
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| 399 | Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when
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| 400 | he was mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone was a good deal amused also.
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| 401 | After some laughing, the gentleman whom he had called Quinion,
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| 402 | said:
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| 403 | 'And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in reference to
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| 404 | the projected business?'
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| 405 | 'Why, I don't know that Brooks understands much about it at
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| 406 | present,' replied Mr. Murdstone; 'but he is not generally
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| 407 | favourable, I believe.'
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| 408 | There was more laughter at this, and Mr. Quinion said he would ring
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| 409 | the bell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks. This he did;
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| 410 | and when the wine came, he made me have a little, with a biscuit,
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| 411 | and, before I drank it, stand up and say, 'Confusion to Brooks of
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| 412 | Sheffield!' The toast was received with great applause, and such
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| 413 | hearty laughter that it made me laugh too; at which they laughed
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| 414 | the more. In short, we quite enjoyed ourselves.
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| 415 | We walked about on the cliff after that, and sat on the grass, and
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| 416 | looked at things through a telescope - I could make out nothing
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| 417 | myself when it was put to my eye, but I pretended I could - and
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| 418 | then we came back to the hotel to an early dinner. All the time we
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| 419 | were out, the two gentlemen smoked incessantly - which, I thought,
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| 420 | if I might judge from the smell of their rough coats, they must
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| 421 | have been doing, ever since the coats had first come home from the
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| 422 | tailor's. I must not forget that we went on board the yacht, where
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| 423 | they all three descended into the cabin, and were busy with some
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| 424 | papers. I saw them quite hard at work, when I looked down through
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| 425 | the open skylight. They left me, during this time, with a very
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| 426 | nice man with a very large head of red hair and a very small shiny
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| 427 | hat upon it, who had got a cross-barred shirt or waistcoat on, with
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| 428 | 'Skylark' in capital letters across the chest. I thought it was
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| 429 | his name; and that as he lived on board ship and hadn't a street
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| 430 | door to put his name on, he put it there instead; but when I called
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| 431 | him Mr. Skylark, he said it meant the vessel.
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| 432 | I observed all day that Mr. Murdstone was graver and steadier than
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| 433 | the two gentlemen. They were very gay and careless. They joked
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| 434 | freely with one another, but seldom with him. It appeared to me
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| 435 | that he was more clever and cold than they were, and that they
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| 436 | regarded him with something of my own feeling. I remarked that,
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| 437 | once or twice when Mr. Quinion was talking, he looked at Mr.
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| 438 | Murdstone sideways, as if to make sure of his not being displeased;
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| 439 | and that once when Mr. Passnidge (the other gentleman) was in high
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| 440 | spirits, he trod upon his foot, and gave him a secret caution with
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| 441 | his eyes, to observe Mr. Murdstone, who was sitting stern and
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| 442 | silent. Nor do I recollect that Mr. Murdstone laughed at all that
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| 443 | day, except at the Sheffield joke - and that, by the by, was his
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| 444 | own.
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| 445 | We went home early in the evening. It was a very fine evening, and
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| 446 | my mother and he had another stroll by the sweetbriar, while I was
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| 447 | sent in to get my tea. When he was gone, my mother asked me all
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| 448 | about the day I had had, and what they had said and done. I
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| 449 | mentioned what they had said about her, and she laughed, and told
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| 450 | me they were impudent fellows who talked nonsense - but I knew it
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| 451 | pleased her. I knew it quite as well as I know it now. I took the
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| 452 | opportunity of asking if she was at all acquainted with Mr. Brooks
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| 453 | of Sheffield, but she answered No, only she supposed he must be a
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| 454 | manufacturer in the knife and fork way.
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| 455 | Can I say of her face - altered as I have reason to remember it,
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| 456 | perished as I know it is - that it is gone, when here it comes
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| 457 | before me at this instant, as distinct as any face that I may
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| 458 | choose to look on in a crowded street? Can I say of her innocent
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| 459 | and girlish beauty, that it faded, and was no more, when its breath
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| 460 | falls on my cheek now, as it fell that night? Can I say she ever
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| 461 | changed, when my remembrance brings her back to life, thus only;
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| 462 | and, truer to its loving youth than I have been, or man ever is,
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| 463 | still holds fast what it cherished then?
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| 464 | I write of her just as she was when I had gone to bed after this
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| 465 | talk, and she came to bid me good night. She kneeled down
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| 466 | playfully by the side of the bed, and laying her chin upon her
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| 467 | hands, and laughing, said:
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| 468 | 'What was it they said, Davy? Tell me again. I can't believe it.'
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| 469 | '"Bewitching -"' I began.
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| 470 | My mother put her hands upon my lips to stop me.
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| 471 | 'It was never bewitching,' she said, laughing. 'It never could
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| 472 | have been bewitching, Davy. Now I know it wasn't!'
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| 473 | 'Yes, it was. "Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield",' I repeated stoutly.
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| 474 | 'And, "pretty."'
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| 475 | 'No, no, it was never pretty. Not pretty,' interposed my mother,
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| 476 | laying her fingers on my lips again.
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| 477 | 'Yes it was. "Pretty little widow."'
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| 478 | 'What foolish, impudent creatures!' cried my mother, laughing and
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| 479 | covering her face. 'What ridiculous men! An't they? Davy dear -'
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| 480 | 'Well, Ma.'
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| 481 | 'Don't tell Peggotty; she might be angry with them. I am
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| 482 | dreadfully angry with them myself; but I would rather Peggotty
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| 483 | didn't know.'
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| 484 | I promised, of course; and we kissed one another over and over
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| 485 | again, and I soon fell fast asleep.
|
| 486 | It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if it were the next
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| 487 | day when Peggotty broached the striking and adventurous proposition
|
| 488 | I am about to mention; but it was probably about two months
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| 489 | afterwards.
|
| 490 | We were sitting as before, one evening (when my mother was out as
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| 491 | before), in company with the stocking and the yard-measure, and the
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| 492 | bit of wax, and the box with St. Paul's on the lid, and the
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| 493 | crocodile book, when Peggotty, after looking at me several times,
|
| 494 | and opening her mouth as if she were going to speak, without doing
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| 495 | it - which I thought was merely gaping, or I should have been
|
| 496 | rather alarmed - said coaxingly:
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| 497 | 'Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a
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| 498 | fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't that be a treat?'
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| 499 | 'Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?' I inquired,
|
| 500 | provisionally.
|
| 501 | 'Oh, what an agreeable man he is!' cried Peggotty, holding up her
|
| 502 | hands. 'Then there's the sea; and the boats and ships; and the
|
| 503 | fishermen; and the beach; and Am to play with -'
|
| 504 | Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, mentioned in my first chapter; but
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| 505 | she spoke of him as a morsel of English Grammar.
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| 506 | I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied that it would
|
| 507 | indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?
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| 508 | 'Why then I'll as good as bet a guinea,' said Peggotty, intent upon
|
| 509 | my face, 'that she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if you like, as
|
| 510 | soon as ever she comes home. There now!'
|
| 511 | 'But what's she to do while we're away?' said I, putting my small
|
| 512 | elbows on the table to argue the point. 'She can't live by
|
| 513 | herself.'
|
| 514 | If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the heel
|
| 515 | of that stocking, it must have been a very little one indeed, and
|
| 516 | not worth darning.
|
| 517 | 'I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself, you know.'
|
| 518 | 'Oh, bless you!' said Peggotty, looking at me again at last.
|
| 519 | 'Don't you know? She's going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs.
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| 520 | Grayper. Mrs. Grayper's going to have a lot of company.'
|
| 521 | Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in the
|
| 522 | utmost impatience, until my mother came home from Mrs. Grayper's
|
| 523 | (for it was that identical neighbour), to ascertain if we could get
|
| 524 | leave to carry out this great idea. Without being nearly so much
|
| 525 | surprised as I had expected, my mother entered into it readily; and
|
| 526 | it was all arranged that night, and my board and lodging during the
|
| 527 | visit were to be paid for.
|
| 528 | The day soon came for our going. It was such an early day that it
|
| 529 | came soon, even to me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half
|
| 530 | afraid that an earthquake or a fiery mountain, or some other great
|
| 531 | convulsion of nature, might interpose to stop the expedition. We
|
| 532 | were to go in a carrier's cart, which departed in the morning after
|
| 533 | breakfast. I would have given any money to have been allowed to
|
| 534 | wrap myself up over-night, and sleep in my hat and boots.
|
| 535 | It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to recollect
|
| 536 | how eager I was to leave my happy home; to think how little I
|
| 537 | suspected what I did leave for ever.
|
| 538 | I am glad to recollect that when the carrier's cart was at the
|
| 539 | gate, and my mother stood there kissing me, a grateful fondness for
|
| 540 | her and for the old place I had never turned my back upon before,
|
| 541 | made me cry. I am glad to know that my mother cried too, and that
|
| 542 | I felt her heart beat against mine.
|
| 543 | I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, my
|
| 544 | mother ran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that she
|
| 545 | might kiss me once more. I am glad to dwell upon the earnestness
|
| 546 | and love with which she lifted up her face to mine, and did so.
|
| 547 | As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up to where
|
| 548 | she was, and seemed to expostulate with her for being so moved. I
|
| 549 | was looking back round the awning of the cart, and wondered what
|
| 550 | business it was of his. Peggotty, who was also looking back on the
|
| 551 | other side, seemed anything but satisfied; as the face she brought
|
| 552 | back in the cart denoted.
|
| 553 | I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on this
|
| 554 | supposititious case: whether, if she were employed to lose me like
|
| 555 | the boy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way home
|
| 556 | again by the buttons she would shed.
|