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Updated: May 9, 2025
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.
Jasper had merely lifted up his heavy eyes to say it, and now dropped them again as he drooped, worn out, over one side of his easy-chair. Mr. Grewgious smoothed his head and face, and stood looking at the fire. 'How is your ward? asked Jasper, after a time, in a faint, fatigued voice. 'Poor little thing! You may imagine her condition. 'Have you seen his sister? inquired Jasper, as before.
'Do you keep a cat down there? asked Mr. Grewgious. Edwin coloured a little as he explained: 'I call Rosa Pussy. 'O, really, said Mr. Grewgious, smoothing down his head; 'that's very affable. Edwin glanced at his face, uncertain whether or no he seriously objected to the appellation. But Edwin might as well have glanced at the face of a clock. 'A pet name, sir, he explained again.
Grewgious retired into a window with Rosa for a few words of consultation, and then asking for pen and ink, sketched out a line or two of agreement. In the meantime Mrs. 'Five-and-forty shillings per week by the month certain at the time of year, said Mrs. Billickin, 'is only reasonable to both parties. It is not Bond Street nor yet St. James's Palace; but it is not pretended that it is.
Rosa looked at him as if she would have liked him to be the recipient of a thousand dedications. 'Which again, naturally, rubs against the grain of Mr. Bazzard, said Mr. Grewgious. 'He is very short with me sometimes, and then I feel that he is meditating, "This blockhead is my master!
Grewgious being of opinion that she could not do better, she withdrew for the purpose. Mr. Crisparkle took the opportunity of giving Mr. Tartar a summary of the distresses of Neville and his sister; the opportunity was quite long enough, as the hat happened to require a little extra fitting on. Mr. Tartar gave his arm to Rosa, and Mr. Crisparkle walked, detached, in front.
Is it to be supposed, for example, that if either of your fathers were living now, and had any mistrust on that subject, his mind would not be changed by the change of circumstances involved in the change of your years? Untenable, unreasonable, inconclusive, and preposterous! Mr. Grewgious said all this, as if he were reading it aloud; or, still more, as if he were repeating a lesson.
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.
Grewgious lives there, Miss, said the watchman, pointing further in. So Rosa went further in, and, when the clocks were striking ten, stood on P. J. T.'s doorsteps, wondering what P. J. T. had done with his street-door. Guided by the painted name of Mr. Grewgious, she went up-stairs and softly tapped and tapped several times. But no one answering, and Mr.
You may lay dry there half your lifetime; but the time will come, and it is best that you should know it, when a dripping sop would be no name for you. Mr. Grewgious looked much disgraced by being prefigured in this pickle. 'Have you any other apartments, ma'am? he asked. 'Mr. Grewgious, returned Mrs. Billickin, with much solemnity, 'I have.
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