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Updated: May 16, 2025
We found it very difficult to get away from the house. It was not Miss Flite who detained us; she was as reasonable a little creature in consulting the convenience of others as there possibly could be. It was Mr. Krook. He seemed unable to detach himself from Mr. Jarndyce. If he had been linked to him, he could hardly have attended him more closely.
You know what they say of my lodger?" whispers Krook, going up a step or two. "What do they say of him?" "They say he has sold himself to the enemy, but you and I know better he don't buy. I'll tell you what, though; my lodger is so black-humoured and gloomy that I believe he'd as soon make that bargain as any other. Don't put him out, sir. That's my advice!" Mr.
Guppy proposes to dispatch the trusty Smallweed to ascertain if Mr. Krook is at home, as in that case they may complete the negotiation without delay. Mr. Jobling approving, Smallweed puts himself under the tall hat and conveys it out of the dining-rooms in the Guppy manner. He soon returns with the intelligence that Mr.
The end of Krook by spontaneous combustion is such a case; but a worse case is the death of Dora, Copperfield's baby wife, along with that of the lap-dog, Jip. This is one of those unforgotten, unpardonable, egregious blunders in art, in feeling, even in decency, which must finally exclude Charles Dickens from the rank of the true immortals.
As he stood with his hand upon the lock, the little old lady graciously observed to him before passing out, "That will do, Krook. You mean well, but are tiresome. My young friends are pressed for time. I have none to spare myself, having to attend court very soon. My young friends are the wards in Jarndyce." "Jarndyce!" said the old man with a start. "Jarndyce and Jarndyce.
That makes a difference." "I know quite enough about it," returns Tony. "It's not agreeable, is it?" pursues Mr. Snagsby, coughing his cough of mild persuasion behind his hand. "Mr. Krook ought to consider it in the rent. I hope he does, I am sure." "I hope he does," says Tony. "But I doubt it." "You find the rent too high, do you, sir?" returns the stationer. "Rents ARE high about here.
The unwholesome air is so stained with this liquor that even the green eyes of the cat upon her shelf, as they open and shut and glimmer on the visitors, look drunk. "Hold up here!" says Mr. Guppy, giving the relaxed figure of the old man another shake. "Mr. Krook! Halloa, sir!" But it would seem as easy to wake a bundle of old clothes with a spirituous heat smouldering in it.
I have brought a friend of mine, sir, on a little matter of business." The old man still sits, often smacking his dry lips without the least consciousness. After some minutes he makes an attempt to rise. They help him up, and he staggers against the wall and stares at them. "How do you do, Mr. Krook?" says Mr. Guppy in some discomfiture. "How do you do, sir? You are looking charming, Mr. Krook.
All this impression of life, stretching from the fog-bound law courts to the marshes of Chesney Wold, from Krook and Miss Flite to Sir Leicester and Volumnia, is rendered as incident, as a succession of particular occasions never, or very seldom, as general and far-seeing narrative, after Thackeray's manner.
The person who does copying." Mr. Krook has eyed his man narrowly. Knows him by sight. Has an indistinct impression of his aristocratic repute. "Did you wish to see him, sir?" "Yes." "It's what I seldom do myself," says Mr. Krook with a grin. "Shall I call him down? But it's a weak chance if he'd come, sir!" "I'll go up to him, then," says Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Second floor, sir. Take the candle.
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