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Indeed, better than I could have expected. 'Is the tragedy named, sir? asked Rosa. 'Strictly between ourselves, answered Mr. Grewgious, 'it has a dreadfully appropriate name. It is called The Thorn of Anxiety. But Mr. Bazzard hopes and I hope that it will come out at last. It was not hard to divine that Mr.
Grewgious was to have helped Bazzard to eat a turkey on Christmas Day. But he could get out of that engagement. He would wish to see Edwin and Rosa together, and Edwin was leaving Cloisterham. The date of Grewgious's arrival at Cloisterham is studiously concealed. I offer at least a conceivable motive for Grewgious's possible presence at the churchyard. Mrs.
Bazzard has become acquainted with, who have also written tragedies, which likewise nobody will on any account whatever hear of bringing out, and these choice spirits dedicate their plays to one another in a highly panegyrical manner. Mr. Bazzard has been the subject of one of these dedications. Now, you know, I never had a play dedicated to ME!
Proctor believed, Edwin Drood, or, as Mr. Walters thinks, Helena Landless. By making Grewgious drop the remark that Bazzard, his clerk, a moping owl of an amateur tragedian, "is off duty here," at his chambers, Dickens hints that Bazzard is Datchery. But that is a mere false scent, a ruse of the author, scattering paper in the wrong place, in this long paper hunt. As for Helena, Mr.
As he sat upright and stiff in his chair, he suddenly rapped his knees, like the carved image of some queer Joss or other coming out of its reverie, and said: 'We must finish this bottle, Mr. Edwin. Let me help you. I'll help Bazzard too, though he IS asleep. He mightn't like it else.
Bazzard merely said: 'I follow you, sir, and I thank you. 'I am going, said Mr. Grewgious, jingling his glass on the table with one hand, and bending aside under cover of the other, to whisper to Edwin, 'to drink to my ward. But I put Bazzard first. He mightn't like it else. This was said with a mysterious wink; or what would have been a wink, if, in Mr.
A gloomy person with tangled locks, and a general air of having been reared under the shadow of that baleful tree of Java which has given shelter to more lies than the whole botanical kingdom, Mr. Grewgious, nevertheless, treated him with unaccountable consideration. 'Now, Bazzard, said Mr.
Grewgious's hands, it could have been quick enough. So Edwin winked responsively, without the least idea what he meant by doing so. 'And now, said Mr. Grewgious, 'I devote a bumper to the fair and fascinating Miss Rosa. Bazzard, the fair and fascinating Miss Rosa! 'I follow you, sir, said Bazzard, 'and I pledge you! 'And so do I! said Edwin. 'Lord bless me, cried Mr.
'In discharge of a trust, I have handed Mr. Edwin Drood a ring of diamonds and rubies. You see? Edwin reproduced the little case, and opened it; and Bazzard looked into it. 'I follow you both, sir, returned Bazzard, 'and I witness the transaction. Evidently anxious to get away and be alone, Edwin Drood now resumed his outer clothing, muttering something about time and appointments. Mr.
Bazzard, with a frowning smile at the fire, put a hand into his tangled locks, as if the thorn of anxiety were there; then into his waistcoat, as if it were there; then into his pockets, as if it were there. In all these movements he was closely followed by the eyes of Edwin, as if that young gentleman expected to see the thorn in action. It was not produced, however, and Mr.
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