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Appearing to be lost in wonder and low spirits because the police are so long in coming to take his master up on some charge of the first magnitude. But be sure that well within the fascination of Mr Lammle's eye and smile sits little Georgiana. And be sure that close to little Georgiana, also under inspection by the same gingerous gentleman, sits Fledgeby.
Mr Lammle's own particular servant behind his chair; the Analytical behind Veneering's chair; instances in point that such servants fall into two classes: one mistrusting the master's acquaintances, and the other mistrusting the master. Mr Lammle's servant, of the second class.
As Mr Lammle's address ends, Twemlow once more turns to her involuntarily, not cured yet of that often recurring impression that she is going to speak to him. This time she really is going to speak to him. Veneering is talking with his other next neighbour, and she speaks in a low voice. 'Mr Twemlow. He answers, 'I beg your pardon? Yes? Still a little doubtful, because of her not looking at him.
'You can't have rushed out to get the start of everybody else, and put in that bill of sale at Lammle's? said Fledgeby. 'Say you haven't, Mr Riah. 'Sir, I have, replied the old man in a low voice. 'Oh my eye! cried Fledgeby. 'Tut, tut, tut! Dear, dear, dear! Well! I knew you were a hard customer, Mr Riah, but I never thought you were as hard as that.
Slightly in contrast with this brief airy toying, one might have noticed a certain dark attention in Mrs Lammle's face as she said some words with her eyes on Mr Lammle's waistcoat, and seemed in return to receive some lesson. But it was all done as a breath passes from a mirror.
As indeed he might, if he chose, for anything he knew of the matter. Mr and Mrs Lammle's house in Sackville Street, Piccadilly, was but a temporary residence. It has done well enough, they informed their friends, for Mr Lammle when a bachelor, but it would not do now.
Several white dints began to come and go about Mr Lammle's nose, as he observed that Mrs Boffin merely looked up from the teapot for a moment with an embarrassed smile, which was no smile, and then looked down again. 'Do you admit the charge, Sophronia? inquired Alfred, in a rallying tone. 'Really, I think, said Mrs Lammle, still gaily, 'I must throw myself on the protection of the Court.
I wish you were. Mrs Lammle bestowed a sweet and loving smile upon her friend, which Miss Podsnap returned as she best could. They sat at lunch in Mrs Lammle's own boudoir. 'And so, dearest Georgiana, Alfred is like your notion of a lover? 'I don't say that, Sophronia, Georgiana replied, beginning to conceal her elbows. 'I haven't any notion of a lover.
You have done so well to-day, Sophronia, that I answer the question, though you know I object to any such questions. You have done so well to-day, Sophronia, that you must be tired. Get to bed. Fledgeby deserved Mr Alfred Lammle's eulogium. He was the meanest cur existing, with a single pair of legs.
As she moves towards the door, Mr Twemlow, attending on her, expresses his soothing hope that the condition of Mr Lammle's affairs is not irretrievable. 'I don't know, Mrs Lammle answers, stopping, and sketching out the pattern of the paper on the wall with the point of her parasol; 'it depends. There may be an opening for him dawning now, or there may be none. We shall soon find out.
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