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Updated: June 27, 2025
Wopsle had in his hand the affecting tragedy of George Barnwell, in which he had that moment invested sixpence, with the view of heaping every word of it on the head of Pumblechook, with whom he was going to drink tea.
Pumblechook made out, after carefully surveying the premises, that he had first got upon the roof of the forge, and had then got upon the roof of the house, and had then let himself down the kitchen chimney by a rope made of his bedding cut into strips; and as Mr. Pumblechook was very positive and drove his own chaise-cart over Everybody it was agreed that it must be so. Mr.
Must they! Let them not hope to taste it! "You must know," said my sister, rising, "it's a pie; a savory pork pie." The company murmured their compliments. Uncle Pumblechook, sensible of having deserved well of his fellow-creatures, said, quite vivaciously, all things considered, "Well, Mrs. Joe, we'll do our best endeavors; let us have a cut at this same pie." My sister went out to get it.
Again, we are introduced to "a large, hard-breathing, middle-aged man, with a mouth like a fish, dull, staring eyes, and sandy hair standing upright on his head, so that he looked as if he had been choked and had at that moment come to." This is Mr. Pumblechook. He does not emerge slowly like a ship from below the horizon. We see him all at once, eyes, mouth, hair, and character to match.
Here is a chicken had round from the Boar, here is a tongue had round from the Boar, here's one or two little things had round from the Boar, that I hope you may not despise. But do I," said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again the moment after he had sat down, "see afore me, him as I ever sported with in his times of happy infancy? And may I may I ?" This May I, meant might he shake hands?
Pumblechook wore corduroys, and so did his shopman; and somehow, there was a general air and flavor about the corduroys, so much in the nature of seeds, and a general air and flavor about the seeds, so much in the nature of corduroys, that I hardly knew which was which. The same opportunity served me for noticing that Mr.
Pumblechook and I breakfasted at eight o'clock in the parlor behind the shop, while the shopman took his mug of tea and hunch of bread and butter on a sack of peas in the front premises. I considered Mr. Pumblechook wretched company.
Joe and Uncle Pumblechook about the beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham's who was so proud, and that she had said I was common, and that I wished I was not common, and that the lies had come out of it somehow, though I didn't know how. "Well," said Joe after a good deal of thought, "there's one thing you may be sure of, Pip, namely, that lies is lies.
After asking a number of questions with no satisfaction, Uncle Pumblechook began again. "Now, boy," he said, "what was Miss Havisham a-doing of when you went in to-day?" "She was sitting," I answered, "in a black velvet coach." My hearers stared at one another as they well might and repeated, "In a black velvet coach?"
Pumblechook had driven off, and my sister was busy, I stole into the forge and confessed my guilt. "You remember all that about Miss Havisham's?" I said. "Remember!" said Joe. "I believe you! Wonderful!" "It's a terrible thing, Joe. It ain't true." "What are you a-telling of, Pip?" cried Joe. "You don't mean to say it!" "Yes, I do; it's lies, Joe." "But not all of it?
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