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| 1 | As soon as I could recover my presence of mind, which quite
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| 2 | deserted me in the first overpowering shock of my aunt's
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| 3 | intelligence, I proposed to Mr. Dick to come round to the
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| 4 | chandler's shop, and take possession of the bed which Mr. Peggotty
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| 5 | had lately vacated. The chandler's shop being in Hungerford
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| 6 | Market, and Hungerford Market being a very different place in those
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| 7 | days, there was a low wooden colonnade before the door (not very
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| 8 | unlike that before the house where the little man and woman used to
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| 9 | live, in the old weather-glass), which pleased Mr. Dick mightily.
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| 10 | The glory of lodging over this structure would have compensated
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| 11 | him, I dare say, for many inconveniences; but, as there were really
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| 12 | few to bear, beyond the compound of flavours I have already
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| 13 | mentioned, and perhaps the want of a little more elbow-room, he was
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| 14 | perfectly charmed with his accommodation. Mrs. Crupp had
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| 15 | indignantly assured him that there wasn't room to swing a cat
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| 16 | there; but, as Mr. Dick justly observed to me, sitting down on the
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| 17 | foot of the bed, nursing his leg, 'You know, Trotwood, I don't want
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| 18 | to swing a cat. I never do swing a cat. Therefore, what does that
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| 19 | signify to ME!'
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| 20 | I tried to ascertain whether Mr. Dick had any understanding of the
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| 21 | causes of this sudden and great change in my aunt's affairs. As I
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| 22 | might have expected, he had none at all. The only account he could
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| 23 | give of it was, that my aunt had said to him, the day before
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| 24 | yesterday, 'Now, Dick, are you really and truly the philosopher I
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| 25 | take you for?' That then he had said, Yes, he hoped so. That then
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| 26 | my aunt had said, 'Dick, I am ruined.' That then he had said, 'Oh,
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| 27 | indeed!' That then my aunt had praised him highly, which he was
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| 28 | glad of. And that then they had come to me, and had had bottled
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| 29 | porter and sandwiches on the road.
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| 30 | Mr. Dick was so very complacent, sitting on the foot of the bed,
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| 31 | nursing his leg, and telling me this, with his eyes wide open and
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| 32 | a surprised smile, that I am sorry to say I was provoked into
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| 33 | explaining to him that ruin meant distress, want, and starvation;
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| 34 | but I was soon bitterly reproved for this harshness, by seeing his
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| 35 | face turn pale, and tears course down his lengthened cheeks, while
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| 36 | he fixed upon me a look of such unutterable woe, that it might have
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| 37 | softened a far harder heart than mine. I took infinitely greater
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| 38 | pains to cheer him up again than I had taken to depress him; and I
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| 39 | soon understood (as I ought to have known at first) that he had
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| 40 | been so confident, merely because of his faith in the wisest and
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| 41 | most wonderful of women, and his unbounded reliance on my
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| 42 | intellectual resources. The latter, I believe, he considered a
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| 43 | match for any kind of disaster not absolutely mortal.
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| 44 | 'What can we do, Trotwood?' said Mr. Dick. 'There's the Memorial
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| 45 | -'
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| 46 | 'To be sure there is,' said I. 'But all we can do just now, Mr.
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| 47 | Dick, is to keep a cheerful countenance, and not let my aunt see
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| 48 | that we are thinking about it.'
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| 49 | He assented to this in the most earnest manner; and implored me, if
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| 50 | I should see him wandering an inch out of the right course, to
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| 51 | recall him by some of those superior methods which were always at
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| 52 | my command. But I regret to state that the fright I had given him
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| 53 | proved too much for his best attempts at concealment. All the
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| 54 | evening his eyes wandered to my aunt's face, with an expression of
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| 55 | the most dismal apprehension, as if he saw her growing thin on the
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| 56 | spot. He was conscious of this, and put a constraint upon his
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| 57 | head; but his keeping that immovable, and sitting rolling his eyes
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| 58 | like a piece of machinery, did not mend the matter at all. I saw
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| 59 | him look at the loaf at supper (which happened to be a small one),
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| 60 | as if nothing else stood between us and famine; and when my aunt
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| 61 | insisted on his making his customary repast, I detected him in the
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| 62 | act of pocketing fragments of his bread and cheese; I have no doubt
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| 63 | for the purpose of reviving us with those savings, when we should
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| 64 | have reached an advanced stage of attenuation.
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| 65 | My aunt, on the other hand, was in a composed frame of mind, which
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| 66 | was a lesson to all of us - to me, I am sure. She was extremely
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| 67 | gracious to Peggotty, except when I inadvertently called her by
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| 68 | that name; and, strange as I knew she felt in London, appeared
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| 69 | quite at home. She was to have my bed, and I was to lie in the
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| 70 | sitting-room, to keep guard over her. She made a great point of
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| 71 | being so near the river, in case of a conflagration; and I suppose
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| 72 | really did find some satisfaction in that circumstance.
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| 73 | 'Trot, my dear,' said my aunt, when she saw me making preparations
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| 74 | for compounding her usual night-draught, 'No!'
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| 75 | 'Nothing, aunt?'
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| 76 | 'Not wine, my dear. Ale.'
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| 77 | 'But there is wine here, aunt. And you always have it made of
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| 78 | wine.'
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| 79 | 'Keep that, in case of sickness,' said my aunt. 'We mustn't use it
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| 80 | carelessly, Trot. Ale for me. Half a pint.'
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| 81 | I thought Mr. Dick would have fallen, insensible. My aunt being
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| 82 | resolute, I went out and got the ale myself. As it was growing
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| 83 | late, Peggotty and Mr. Dick took that opportunity of repairing to
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| 84 | the chandler's shop together. I parted from him, poor fellow, at
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| 85 | the corner of the street, with his great kite at his back, a very
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| 86 | monument of human misery.
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| 87 | My aunt was walking up and down the room when I returned, crimping
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| 88 | the borders of her nightcap with her fingers. I warmed the ale and
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| 89 | made the toast on the usual infallible principles. When it was
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| 90 | ready for her, she was ready for it, with her nightcap on, and the
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| 91 | skirt of her gown turned back on her knees.
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| 92 | 'My dear,' said my aunt, after taking a spoonful of it; 'it's a
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| 93 | great deal better than wine. Not half so bilious.'
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| 94 | I suppose I looked doubtful, for she added:
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| 95 | 'Tut, tut, child. If nothing worse than Ale happens to us, we are
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| 96 | well off.'
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| 97 | 'I should think so myself, aunt, I am sure,' said I.
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| 98 | 'Well, then, why DON'T you think so?' said my aunt.
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| 99 | 'Because you and I are very different people,' I returned.
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| 100 | 'Stuff and nonsense, Trot!' replied my aunt.
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| 101 | MY aunt went on with a quiet enjoyment, in which there was very
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| 102 | little affectation, if any; drinking the warm ale with a tea-spoon,
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| 103 | and soaking her strips of toast in it.
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| 104 | 'Trot,' said she, 'I don't care for strange faces in general, but
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| 105 | I rather like that Barkis of yours, do you know!'
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| 106 | 'It's better than a hundred pounds to hear you say so!' said I.
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| 107 | 'It's a most extraordinary world,' observed my aunt, rubbing her
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| 108 | nose; 'how that woman ever got into it with that name, is
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| 109 | unaccountable to me. It would be much more easy to be born a
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| 110 | Jackson, or something of that sort, one would think.'
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| 111 | 'Perhaps she thinks so, too; it's not her fault,' said I.
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| 112 | 'I suppose not,' returned my aunt, rather grudging the admission;
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| 113 | 'but it's very aggravating. However, she's Barkis now. That's
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| 114 | some comfort. Barkis is uncommonly fond of you, Trot.'
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| 115 | 'There is nothing she would leave undone to prove it,' said I.
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| 116 | 'Nothing, I believe,' returned my aunt. 'Here, the poor fool has
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| 117 | been begging and praying about handing over some of her money -
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| 118 | because she has got too much of it. A simpleton!'
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| 119 | My aunt's tears of pleasure were positively trickling down into the
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| 120 | warm ale.
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| 121 | 'She's the most ridiculous creature that ever was born,' said my
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| 122 | aunt. 'I knew, from the first moment when I saw her with that poor
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| 123 | dear blessed baby of a mother of yours, that she was the most
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| 124 | ridiculous of mortals. But there are good points in Barkis!'
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| 125 | Affecting to laugh, she got an opportunity of putting her hand to
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| 126 | her eyes. Having availed herself of it, she resumed her toast and
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| 127 | her discourse together.
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| 128 | 'Ah! Mercy upon us!' sighed my aunt. 'I know all about it, Trot!
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| 129 | Barkis and myself had quite a gossip while you were out with Dick.
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| 130 | I know all about it. I don't know where these wretched girls
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| 131 | expect to go to, for my part. I wonder they don't knock out their
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| 132 | brains against - against mantelpieces,' said my aunt; an idea which
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| 133 | was probably suggested to her by her contemplation of mine.
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| 134 | 'Poor Emily!' said I.
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| 135 | 'Oh, don't talk to me about poor,' returned my aunt. 'She should
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| 136 | have thought of that, before she caused so much misery! Give me a
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| 137 | kiss, Trot. I am sorry for your early experience.'
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| 138 | As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to detain me, and
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| 139 | said:
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| 140 | 'Oh, Trot, Trot! And so you fancy yourself in love! Do you?'
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| 141 | 'Fancy, aunt!' I exclaimed, as red as I could be. 'I adore her
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| 142 | with my whole soul!'
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| 143 | 'Dora, indeed!' returned my aunt. 'And you mean to say the little
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| 144 | thing is very fascinating, I suppose?'
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| 145 | 'My dear aunt,' I replied, 'no one can form the least idea what she
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| 146 | is!'
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| 147 | 'Ah! And not silly?' said my aunt.
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| 148 | 'Silly, aunt!'
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| 149 | I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a single
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| 150 | moment, to consider whether she was or not. I resented the idea,
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| 151 | of course; but I was in a manner struck by it, as a new one
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| 152 | altogether.
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| 153 | 'Not light-headed?' said my aunt.
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| 154 | 'Light-headed, aunt!' I could only repeat this daring speculation
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| 155 | with the same kind of feeling with which I had repeated the
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| 156 | preceding question.
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| 157 | 'Well, well!' said my aunt. 'I only ask. I don't depreciate her.
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| 158 | Poor little couple! And so you think you were formed for one
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| 159 | another, and are to go through a party-supper-table kind of life,
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| 160 | like two pretty pieces of confectionery, do you, Trot?'
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| 161 | She asked me this so kindly, and with such a gentle air, half
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| 162 | playful and half sorrowful, that I was quite touched.
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| 163 | 'We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know,' I replied; 'and I
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| 164 | dare say we say and think a good deal that is rather foolish. But
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| 165 | we love one another truly, I am sure. If I thought Dora could ever
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| 166 | love anybody else, or cease to love me; or that I could ever love
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| 167 | anybody else, or cease to love her; I don't know what I should do
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| 168 | - go out of my mind, I think!'
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| 169 | 'Ah, Trot!' said my aunt, shaking her head, and smiling gravely;
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| 170 | 'blind, blind, blind!'
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| 171 | 'Someone that I know, Trot,' my aunt pursued, after a pause,
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| 172 | 'though of a very pliant disposition, has an earnestness of
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| 173 | affection in him that reminds me of poor Baby. Earnestness is what
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| 174 | that Somebody must look for, to sustain him and improve him, Trot.
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| 175 | Deep, downright, faithful earnestness.'
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| 176 | 'If you only knew the earnestness of Dora, aunt!' I cried.
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| 177 | 'Oh, Trot!' she said again; 'blind, blind!' and without knowing
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| 178 | why, I felt a vague unhappy loss or want of something overshadow me
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| 179 | like a cloud.
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| 180 | 'However,' said my aunt, 'I don't want to put two young creatures
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| 181 | out of conceit with themselves, or to make them unhappy; so, though
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| 182 | it is a girl and boy attachment, and girl and boy attachments very
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| 183 | often - mind! I don't say always! - come to nothing, still we'll be
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| 184 | serious about it, and hope for a prosperous issue one of these
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| 185 | days. There's time enough for it to come to anything!'
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| 186 | This was not upon the whole very comforting to a rapturous lover;
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| 187 | but I was glad to have my aunt in my confidence, and I was mindful
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| 188 | of her being fatigued. So I thanked her ardently for this mark of
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| 189 | her affection, and for all her other kindnesses towards me; and
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| 190 | after a tender good night, she took her nightcap into my bedroom.
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| 191 | How miserable I was, when I lay down! How I thought and thought
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| 192 | about my being poor, in Mr. Spenlow's eyes; about my not being what
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| 193 | I thought I was, when I proposed to Dora; about the chivalrous
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| 194 | necessity of telling Dora what my worldly condition was, and
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| 195 | releasing her from her engagement if she thought fit; about how I
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| 196 | should contrive to live, during the long term of my articles, when
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| 197 | I was earning nothing; about doing something to assist my aunt, and
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| 198 | seeing no way of doing anything; about coming down to have no money
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| 199 | in my pocket, and to wear a shabby coat, and to be able to carry
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| 200 | Dora no little presents, and to ride no gallant greys, and to show
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| 201 | myself in no agreeable light! Sordid and selfish as I knew it was,
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| 202 | and as I tortured myself by knowing that it was, to let my mind run
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| 203 | on my own distress so much, I was so devoted to Dora that I could
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| 204 | not help it. I knew that it was base in me not to think more of my
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| 205 | aunt, and less of myself; but, so far, selfishness was inseparable
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| 206 | from Dora, and I could not put Dora on one side for any mortal
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| 207 | creature. How exceedingly miserable I was, that night!
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| 208 | As to sleep, I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes, but I
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| 209 | seemed to dream without the previous ceremony of going to sleep.
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| 210 | Now I was ragged, wanting to sell Dora matches, six bundles for a
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| 211 | halfpenny; now I was at the office in a nightgown and boots,
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| 212 | remonstrated with by Mr. Spenlow on appearing before the clients in
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| 213 | that airy attire; now I was hungrily picking up the crumbs that
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| 214 | fell from old Tiffey's daily biscuit, regularly eaten when St.
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| 215 | Paul's struck one; now I was hopelessly endeavouring to get a
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| 216 | licence to marry Dora, having nothing but one of Uriah Heep's
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| 217 | gloves to offer in exchange, which the whole Commons rejected; and
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| 218 | still, more or less conscious of my own room, I was always tossing
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| 219 | about like a distressed ship in a sea of bed-clothes.
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| 220 | My aunt was restless, too, for I frequently heard her walking to
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| 221 | and fro. Two or,three times in the course of the night, attired in
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| 222 | a long flannel wrapper in which she looked seven feet high, she
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| 223 | appeared, like a disturbed ghost, in my room, and came to the side
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| 224 | of the sofa on which I lay. On the first occasion I started up in
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| 225 | alarm, to learn that she inferred from a particular light in the
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| 226 | sky, that Westminster Abbey was on fire; and to be consulted in
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| 227 | reference to the probability of its igniting Buckingham Street, in
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| 228 | case the wind changed. Lying still, after that, I found that she
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| 229 | sat down near me, whispering to herself 'Poor boy!' And then it
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| 230 | made me twenty times more wretched, to know how unselfishly mindful
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| 231 | she was of me, and how selfishly mindful I was of myself.
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| 232 | It was difficult to believe that a night so long to me, could be
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| 233 | short to anybody else. This consideration set me thinking and
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| 234 | thinking of an imaginary party where people were dancing the hours
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| 235 | away, until that became a dream too, and I heard the music
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| 236 | incessantly playing one tune, and saw Dora incessantly dancing one
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| 237 | dance, without taking the least notice of me. The man who had been
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| 238 | playing the harp all night, was trying in vain to cover it with an
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| 239 | ordinary-sized nightcap, when I awoke; or I should rather say, when
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| 240 | I left off trying to go to sleep, and saw the sun shining in
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| 241 | through the window at last.
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| 242 | There was an old Roman bath in those days at the bottom of one of
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| 243 | the streets out of the Strand - it may be there still - in which I
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| 244 | have had many a cold plunge. Dressing myself as quietly as I
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| 245 | could, and leaving Peggotty to look after my aunt, I tumbled head
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| 246 | foremost into it, and then went for a walk to Hampstead. I had a
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| 247 | hope that this brisk treatment might freshen my wits a little; and
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| 248 | I think it did them good, for I soon came to the conclusion that
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| 249 | the first step I ought to take was, to try if my articles could be
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| 250 | cancelled and the premium recovered. I got some breakfast on the
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| 251 | Heath, and walked back to Doctors' Commons, along the watered roads
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| 252 | and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers, growing in gardens
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| 253 | and carried into town on hucksters' heads, intent on this first
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| 254 | effort to meet our altered circumstances.
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| 255 | I arrived at the office so soon, after all, that I had half an
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| 256 | hour's loitering about the Commons, before old Tiffey, who was
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| 257 | always first, appeared with his key. Then I sat down in my shady
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| 258 | corner, looking up at the sunlight on the opposite chimney-pots,
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| 259 | and thinking about Dora; until Mr. Spenlow came in, crisp and
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| 260 | curly.
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| 261 | 'How are you, Copperfield?' said he. 'Fine morning!'
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| 262 | 'Beautiful morning, sir,' said I. 'Could I say a word to you
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| 263 | before you go into Court?'
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| 264 | 'By all means,' said he. 'Come into my room.'
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| 265 | I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown, and
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| 266 | touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside a
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| 267 | closet door.
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| 268 | 'I am sorry to say,' said I, 'that I have some rather disheartening
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| 269 | intelligence from my aunt.'
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| 270 | 'No!' said he. 'Dear me! Not paralysis, I hope?'
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| 271 | 'It has no reference to her health, sir,' I replied. 'She has met
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| 272 | with some large losses. In fact, she has very little left,
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| 273 | indeed.'
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| 274 | 'You as-tound me, Copperfield!' cried Mr. Spenlow.
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| 275 | I shook my head. 'Indeed, sir,' said I, 'her affairs are so
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| 276 | changed, that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible - at
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| 277 | a sacrifice on our part of some portion of the premium, of course,'
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| 278 | I put in this, on the spur of the moment, warned by the blank
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| 279 | expression of his face - 'to cancel my articles?'
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| 280 | What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows. It was like
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| 281 | asking, as a favour, to be sentenced to transportation from Dora.
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| 282 | 'To cancel your articles, Copperfield? Cancel?'
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| 283 | I explained with tolerable firmness, that I really did not know
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| 284 | where my means of subsistence were to come from, unless I could
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| 285 | earn them for myself. I had no fear for the future, I said - and
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| 286 | I laid great emphasis on that, as if to imply that I should still
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| 287 | be decidedly eligible for a son-in-law one of these days - but, for
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| 288 | the present, I was thrown upon my own resources.
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| 289 | 'I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfield,' said Mr. Spenlow.
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| 290 | 'Extremely sorry. It is not usual to cancel articles for any such
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| 291 | reason. It is not a professional course of proceeding. It is not
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| 292 | a convenient precedent at all. Far from it. At the same time -'
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| 293 | 'You are very good, sir,' I murmured, anticipating a concession.
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| 294 | 'Not at all. Don't mention it,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'At the same
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| 295 | time, I was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands
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| 296 | unfettered - if I had not a partner - Mr. Jorkins -'
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| 297 | My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another effort.
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| 298 | 'Do you think, sir,' said I, 'if I were to mention it to Mr.
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| 299 | Jorkins -'
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| 300 | Mr. Spenlow shook his head discouragingly. 'Heaven forbid,
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| 301 | Copperfield,' he replied, 'that I should do any man an injustice:
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| 302 | still less, Mr. jorkins. But I know my partner, Copperfield. Mr.
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| 303 | jorkins is not a man to respond to a proposition of this peculiar
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| 304 | nature. Mr. jorkins is very difficult to move from the beaten
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| 305 | track. You know what he is!'
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| 306 | I am sure I knew nothing about him, except that he had originally
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| 307 | been alone in the business, and now lived by himself in a house
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| 308 | near Montagu Square, which was fearfully in want of painting; that
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| 309 | he came very late of a day, and went away very early; that he never
|
| 310 | appeared to be consulted about anything; and that he had a dingy
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| 311 | little black-hole of his own upstairs, where no business was ever
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| 312 | done, and where there was a yellow old cartridge-paper pad upon his
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| 313 | desk, unsoiled by ink, and reported to be twenty years of age.
|
| 314 | 'Would you object to my mentioning it to him, sir?' I asked.
|
| 315 | 'By no means,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'But I have some experience of
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| 316 | Mr. jorkins, Copperfield. I wish it were otherwise, for I should
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| 317 | be happy to meet your views in any respect. I cannot have the
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| 318 | objection to your mentioning it to Mr. jorkins, Copperfield, if you
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| 319 | think it worth while.'
|
| 320 | Availing myself of this permission, which was given with a warm
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| 321 | shake of the hand, I sat thinking about Dora, and looking at the
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| 322 | sunlight stealing from the chimney-pots down the wall of the
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| 323 | opposite house, until Mr. jorkins came. I then went up to Mr.
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| 324 | jorkins's room, and evidently astonished Mr. jorkins very much by
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| 325 | making my appearance there.
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| 326 | 'Come in, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. jorkins. 'Come in!'
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| 327 | I went in, and sat down; and stated my case to Mr. jorkins pretty
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| 328 | much as I had stated it to Mr. Spenlow. Mr. Jorkins was not by any
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| 329 | means the awful creature one might have expected, but a large,
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| 330 | mild, smooth-faced man of sixty, who took so much snuff that there
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| 331 | was a tradition in the Commons that he lived principally on that
|
| 332 | stimulant, having little room in his system for any other article
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| 333 | of diet.
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| 334 | 'You have mentioned this to Mr. Spenlow, I suppose?' said Mr.
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| 335 | jorkins; when he had heard me, very restlessly, to an end.
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| 336 | I answered Yes, and told him that Mr. Spenlow had introduced his
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| 337 | name.
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| 338 | 'He said I should object?' asked Mr. jorkins.
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| 339 | I was obliged to admit that Mr. Spenlow had considered it probable.
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| 340 | 'I am sorry to say, Mr. Copperfield, I can't advance your object,'
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| 341 | said Mr. jorkins, nervously. 'The fact is - but I have an
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| 342 | appointment at the Bank, if you'll have the goodness to excuse me.'
|
| 343 | With that he rose in a great hurry, and was going out of the room,
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| 344 | when I made bold to say that I feared, then, there was no way of
|
| 345 | arranging the matter?
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| 346 | 'No!' said Mr. jorkins, stopping at the door to shake his head.
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| 347 | 'Oh, no! I object, you know,' which he said very rapidly, and went
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| 348 | out. 'You must be aware, Mr. Copperfield,' he added, looking
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| 349 | restlessly in at the door again, 'if Mr. Spenlow objects -'
|
| 350 | 'Personally, he does not object, sir,' said I.
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| 351 | 'Oh! Personally!' repeated Mr. Jorkins, in an impatient manner.
|
| 352 | 'I assure you there's an objection, Mr. Copperfield. Hopeless!
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| 353 | What you wish to be done, can't be done. I - I really have got an
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| 354 | appointment at the Bank.' With that he fairly ran away; and to the
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| 355 | best of my knowledge, it was three days before he showed himself in
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| 356 | the Commons again.
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| 357 | Being very anxious to leave no stone unturned, I waited until Mr.
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| 358 | Spenlow came in, and then described what had passed; giving him to
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| 359 | understand that I was not hopeless of his being able to soften the
|
| 360 | adamantine jorkins, if he would undertake the task.
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| 361 | 'Copperfield,' returned Mr. Spenlow, with a gracious smile, 'you
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| 362 | have not known my partner, Mr. jorkins, as long as I have. Nothing
|
| 363 | is farther from my thoughts than to attribute any degree of
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| 364 | artifice to Mr. jorkins. But Mr. jorkins has a way of stating his
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| 365 | objections which often deceives people. No, Copperfield!' shaking
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| 366 | his head. 'Mr. jorkins is not to be moved, believe me!'
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| 367 | I was completely bewildered between Mr. Spenlow and Mr. jorkins, as
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| 368 | to which of them really was the objecting partner; but I saw with
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| 369 | sufficient clearness that there was obduracy somewhere in the firm,
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| 370 | and that the recovery of my aunt's thousand pounds was out of the
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| 371 | question. In a state of despondency, which I remember with
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| 372 | anything but satisfaction, for I know it still had too much
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| 373 | reference to myself (though always in connexion with Dora), I left
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| 374 | the office, and went homeward.
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| 375 | I was trying to familiarize my mind with the worst, and to present
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| 376 | to myself the arrangements we should have to make for the future in
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| 377 | their sternest aspect, when a hackney-chariot coming after me, and
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| 378 | stopping at my very feet, occasioned me to look up. A fair hand
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| 379 | was stretched forth to me from the window; and the face I had never
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| 380 | seen without a feeling of serenity and happiness, from the moment
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| 381 | when it first turned back on the old oak staircase with the great
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| 382 | broad balustrade, and when I associated its softened beauty with
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| 383 | the stained-glass window in the church, was smiling on me.
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| 384 | 'Agnes!' I joyfully exclaimed. 'Oh, my dear Agnes, of all people
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| 385 | in the world, what a pleasure to see you!'
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| 386 | 'Is it, indeed?' she said, in her cordial voice.
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| 387 | 'I want to talk to you so much!' said I. 'It's such a lightening
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| 388 | of my heart, only to look at you! If I had had a conjuror's cap,
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| 389 | there is no one I should have wished for but you!'
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| 390 | 'What?' returned Agnes.
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| 391 | 'Well! perhaps Dora first,' I admitted, with a blush.
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| 392 | 'Certainly, Dora first, I hope,' said Agnes, laughing.
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| 393 | 'But you next!' said I. 'Where are you going?'
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| 394 | She was going to my rooms to see my aunt. The day being very fine,
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| 395 | she was glad to come out of the chariot, which smelt (I had my head
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| 396 | in it all this time) like a stable put under a cucumber-frame. I
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| 397 | dismissed the coachman, and she took my arm, and we walked on
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| 398 | together. She was like Hope embodied, to me. How different I felt
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| 399 | in one short minute, having Agnes at my side!
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| 400 | My aunt had written her one of the odd, abrupt notes - very little
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| 401 | longer than a Bank note - to which her epistolary efforts were
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| 402 | usually limited. She had stated therein that she had fallen into
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| 403 | adversity, and was leaving Dover for good, but had quite made up
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| 404 | her mind to it, and was so well that nobody need be uncomfortable
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| 405 | about her. Agnes had come to London to see my aunt, between whom
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| 406 | and herself there had been a mutual liking these many years:
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| 407 | indeed, it dated from the time of my taking up my residence in Mr.
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| 408 | Wickfield's house. She was not alone, she said. Her papa was with
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| 409 | her - and Uriah Heep.
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| 410 | 'And now they are partners,' said I. 'Confound him!'
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| 411 | 'Yes,' said Agnes. 'They have some business here; and I took
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| 412 | advantage of their coming, to come too. You must not think my
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| 413 | visit all friendly and disinterested, Trotwood, for - I am afraid
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| 414 | I may be cruelly prejudiced - I do not like to let papa go away
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| 415 | alone, with him.'
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| 416 | 'Does he exercise the same influence over Mr. Wickfield still,
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| 417 | Agnes?'
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| 418 | Agnes shook her head. 'There is such a change at home,' said she,
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| 419 | 'that you would scarcely know the dear old house. They live with
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| 420 | us now.'
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| 421 | 'They?' said I.
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| 422 | 'Mr. Heep and his mother. He sleeps in your old room,' said Agnes,
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| 423 | looking up into my face.
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| 424 | 'I wish I had the ordering of his dreams,' said I. 'He wouldn't
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| 425 | sleep there long.'
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| 426 | 'I keep my own little room,' said Agnes, 'where I used to learn my
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| 427 | lessons. How the time goes! You remember? The little panelled
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| 428 | room that opens from the drawing-room?'
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| 429 | 'Remember, Agnes? When I saw you, for the first time, coming out
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| 430 | at the door, with your quaint little basket of keys hanging at your
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| 431 | side?'
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| 432 | 'It is just the same,' said Agnes, smiling. 'I am glad you think
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| 433 | of it so pleasantly. We were very happy.'
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| 434 | 'We were, indeed,' said I.
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| 435 | 'I keep that room to myself still; but I cannot always desert Mrs.
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| 436 | Heep, you know. And so,' said Agnes, quietly, 'I feel obliged to
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| 437 | bear her company, when I might prefer to be alone. But I have no
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| 438 | other reason to complain of her. If she tires me, sometimes, by
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| 439 | her praises of her son, it is only natural in a mother. He is a
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| 440 | very good son to her.'
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| 441 | I looked at Agnes when she said these words, without detecting in
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| 442 | her any consciousness of Uriah's design. Her mild but earnest eyes
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| 443 | met mine with their own beautiful frankness, and there was no
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| 444 | change in her gentle face.
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| 445 | 'The chief evil of their presence in the house,' said Agnes, 'is
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| 446 | that I cannot be as near papa as I could wish - Uriah Heep being so
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| 447 | much between us - and cannot watch over him, if that is not too
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| 448 | bold a thing to say, as closely as I would. But if any fraud or
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| 449 | treachery is practising against him, I hope that simple love and
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| 450 | truth will be strong in the end. I hope that real love and truth
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| 451 | are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world.'
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| 452 | A certain bright smile, which I never saw on any other face, died
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| 453 | away, even while I thought how good it was, and how familiar it had
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| 454 | once been to me; and she asked me, with a quick change of
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| 455 | expression (we were drawing very near my street), if I knew how the
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| 456 | reverse in my aunt's circumstances had been brought about. On my
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| 457 | replying no, she had not told me yet, Agnes became thoughtful, and
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| 458 | I fancied I felt her arm tremble in mine.
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| 459 | We found my aunt alone, in a state of some excitement. A
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| 460 | difference of opinion had arisen between herself and Mrs. Crupp, on
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| 461 | an abstract question (the propriety of chambers being inhabited by
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| 462 | the gentler sex); and my aunt, utterly indifferent to spasms on the
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| 463 | part of Mrs. Crupp, had cut the dispute short, by informing that
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| 464 | lady that she smelt of my brandy, and that she would trouble her to
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| 465 | walk out. Both of these expressions Mrs. Crupp considered
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| 466 | actionable, and had expressed her intention of bringing before a
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| 467 | 'British Judy' - meaning, it was supposed, the bulwark of our
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| 468 | national liberties.
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| 469 | MY aunt, however, having had time to cool, while Peggotty was out
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| 470 | showing Mr. Dick the soldiers at the Horse Guards - and being,
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| 471 | besides, greatly pleased to see Agnes - rather plumed herself on
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| 472 | the affair than otherwise, and received us with unimpaired good
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| 473 | humour. When Agnes laid her bonnet on the table, and sat down
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| 474 | beside her, I could not but think, looking on her mild eyes and her
|
| 475 | radiant forehead, how natural it seemed to have her there; how
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| 476 | trustfully, although she was so young and inexperienced, my aunt
|
| 477 | confided in her; how strong she was, indeed, in simple love and
|
| 478 | truth.
|
| 479 | We began to talk about my aunt's losses, and I told them what I had
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| 480 | tried to do that morning.
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| 481 | 'Which was injudicious, Trot,' said my aunt, 'but well meant. You
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| 482 | are a generous boy - I suppose I must say, young man, now - and I
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| 483 | am proud of you, my dear. So far, so good. Now, Trot and Agnes,
|
| 484 | let us look the case of Betsey Trotwood in the face, and see how it
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| 485 | stands.'
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| 486 | I observed Agnes turn pale, as she looked very attentively at my
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| 487 | aunt. My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes.
|
| 488 | 'Betsey Trotwood,' said my aunt, who had always kept her money
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| 489 | matters to herself. '- I don't mean your sister, Trot, my dear,
|
| 490 | but myself - had a certain property. It don't matter how much;
|
| 491 | enough to live on. More; for she had saved a little, and added to
|
| 492 | it. Betsey funded her property for some time, and then, by the
|
| 493 | advice of her man of business, laid it out on landed security.
|
| 494 | That did very well, and returned very good interest, till Betsey
|
| 495 | was paid off. I am talking of Betsey as if she was a man-of-war.
|
| 496 | Well! Then, Betsey had to look about her, for a new investment.
|
| 497 | She thought she was wiser, now, than her man of business, who was
|
| 498 | not such a good man of business by this time, as he used to be - I
|
| 499 | am alluding to your father, Agnes - and she took it into her head
|
| 500 | to lay it out for herself. So she took her pigs,' said my aunt,
|
| 501 | 'to a foreign market; and a very bad market it turned out to be.
|
| 502 | First, she lost in the mining way, and then she lost in the diving
|
| 503 | way - fishing up treasure, or some such Tom Tiddler nonsense,'
|
| 504 | explained my aunt, rubbing her nose; 'and then she lost in the
|
| 505 | mining way again, and, last of all, to set the thing entirely to
|
| 506 | rights, she lost in the banking way. I don't know what the Bank
|
| 507 | shares were worth for a little while,' said my aunt; 'cent per cent
|
| 508 | was the lowest of it, I believe; but the Bank was at the other end
|
| 509 | of the world, and tumbled into space, for what I know; anyhow, it
|
| 510 | fell to pieces, and never will and never can pay sixpence; and
|
| 511 | Betsey's sixpences were all there, and there's an end of them.
|
| 512 | Least said, soonest mended!'
|
| 513 | My aunt concluded this philosophical summary, by fixing her eyes
|
| 514 | with a kind of triumph on Agnes, whose colour was gradually
|
| 515 | returning.
|
| 516 | 'Dear Miss Trotwood, is that all the history?' said Agnes.
|
| 517 | 'I hope it's enough, child,' said my aunt. 'If there had been more
|
| 518 | money to lose, it wouldn't have been all, I dare say. Betsey would
|
| 519 | have contrived to throw that after the rest, and make another
|