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Updated: June 10, 2025
'But I tell you, good people Casby! This mound of meekness, this lump of love, this bottle-green smiler, this is your driver! said Pancks. 'If you want to see the man who would flay you alive here he is! Don't look for him in me, at thirty shillings a week, but look for him in Casby, at I don't know how much a year! 'Good! cried several voices. 'Hear Mr Pancks! 'Yes, I should think so!
'Mr Casby knows, said she, 'that I am not subject to changes. The change that I await here is the great change. 'Indeed, ma'am? returned Mr Pancks, with a wandering eye towards the figure of the little seamstress on her knee picking threads and fraying of her work from the carpet. 'You look nicely, ma'am. 'I bear what I have to bear, she answered.
I gathered that she was his only surviving relation, and had lived with him from her childhood. "You will think," she added, laughing, "that he is the kind of person who is shown by his friends as a wonderful old man, and who turns out to be a person like the patriarch Casby, in Little Dorrit, whose sanctity, like Samson's, depended entirely upon the length of his hair.
'Then, Flora, said Arthur, with a sudden interest in the conversation, 'Mr Casby was so kind as to mention Little Dorrit to you, was he? What did he say? 'Certainly, said Arthur. 'By all means.
Oh! why, with that head, is he not a father to the orphan and a friend to the friendless! With that head, however, he remained old Christopher Casby, proclaimed by common report rich in house property; and with that head, he now sat in his silent parlour. Indeed it would be the height of unreason to expect him to be sitting there without that head.
Here is your benevolent Patriarch of a Casby, and there is his golden rule. He is uncommonly improving to look at, and I am not at all so. He is as sweet as honey, and I am as dull as ditch-water. He provides the pitch, and I handle it, and it sticks to me.
Therefore, when Arthur now made such an apology, and such a request, and moved her to her desk and seated himself on the stool, Mrs Finching merely began to talk louder and faster, as a delicate hint that she could overhear nothing, and Mr Casby stroked his long white locks with sleepy calmness.
'Where's Mr Casby? asked the short dark man, looking about. 'He will be here directly, if you want him. 'I want him? said the short dark man. 'Don't you? This elicited a word or two of explanation from Clennam, during the delivery of which the short dark man held his breath and looked at him.
Clennam could not withhold a smile, as the panting little steam-tug, so useful to that unwieldy ship, the Casby, waited on and watched him as if it were seeking an opportunity of running in and rifling him of all he wanted before he could resist its manoeuvres; though there was that in Mr Pancks's eagerness, too, which awakened many wondering speculations in his mind.
'There was a time, said Mr Casby, 'when your parents and myself were not on friendly terms. There was a little family misunderstanding among us. Your respected mother was rather jealous of her son, maybe; when I say her son, I mean your worthy self, your worthy self. His smooth face had a bloom upon it like ripe wall-fruit.
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