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Updated: June 25, 2025
To Snagsby's, Law- Stationer's, Deeds engrossed and copied, Law-Writing executed in all its branches, &c., &c., &c. It is somewhere about five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and a balmy fragrance of warm tea hovers in Cook's Court. It hovers about Snagsby's door. The hours are early there: dinner at half-past one and supper at half-past nine. Mr.
Snagsby's suggestion is the practical suggestion after all, and the beadle must be called in. So the little crazy lodger goes for the beadle, and the rest come out of the room. "Don't leave the cat there!" says the surgeon; "that won't do!" Mr. Krook therefore drives her out before him, and she goes furtively downstairs, winding her lithe tail and licking her lips. "Good night!" says Mr.
Snagsby. Mr. Snagsby observes in a mild and casual way that "it's gone that." "Perhaps you'd like to begin without them," is Mrs. Snagsby's reproachful remark. Mr. Snagsby does look as if he would like it very much, but he says, with his cough of mildness, "No, my dear, no. I merely named the time." "What's time," says Mrs. Snagsby, "to eternity?" "Very true, my dear," says Mr. Snagsby.
In his lifetime, and likewise in the period of Snagsby's "time" of seven long years, there dwelt with Peffer in the same law- stationering premises a niece a short, shrewd niece, something too violently compressed about the waist, and with a sharp nose like a sharp autumn evening, inclining to be frosty towards the end.
Snagsby's sleep and terrifying him with unaccountable questions, so that often when the cock at the little dairy in Cursitor Street breaks out in his usual absurd way about the morning, Mr. Snagsby finds himself in a crisis of nightmare, with his little woman shaking him and saying "What's the matter with the man!" The little woman herself is not the least item in his difficulty.
Guppy, clerk to Kenge and Carboy, who was at first as open as the sun at noon, but who suddenly shut up as close as midnight, under the influence no doubt of Mr. Snagsby's suborning and tampering. There is Mr. Weevle, friend of Mr. Guppy, who lived mysteriously up a court, owing to the like coherent causes.
Tulkinghorn together, and conferred with Mr. Tulkinghorn on the change in Mr. Guppy, and helped to turn up the circumstances in which the present company are interested, casually, by the wayside, being still and ever on the great high road that is to terminate in Mr. Snagsby's full exposure and a matrimonial separation. All this, Mrs. Snagsby, as an injured woman, and the friend of Mrs.
I was not aware of it until he struck in on my saying I heard some one crying. "Don't be alarmed, miss," he returned. "It's Snagsby's servant." "Why, you see," said Mr. Bucket, "the girl's subject to fits, and has 'em bad upon her to-night. A most contrary circumstance it is, for I want certain information out of that girl, and she must be brought to reason somehow."
Snagsby is changed, and his little woman knows it. For Tom-all-Alone's and Lincoln's Inn Fields persist in harnessing themselves, a pair of ungovernable coursers, to the chariot of Mr. Snagsby's imagination; and Mr. Bucket drives; and the passengers are Jo and Mr. Tulkinghorn; and the complete equipage whirls though the law-stationery business at wild speed all round the clock.
Tulkinghorn, "make another visit here, or at Mr. Snagsby's, and you shall learn." "In that case you will send me to the prison, perhaps?" "Perhaps." It would be contradictory for one in mademoiselle's state of agreeable jocularity to foam at the mouth, otherwise a tigerish expansion thereabouts might look as if a very little more would make her do it. "In a word, mistress," says Mr.
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