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Updated: May 23, 2025
Seated at the same table, though with his chair modestly and uncomfortably drawn a little way from it, sits a bald, mild, shining man who coughs respectfully behind his hand when the lawyer bids him fill his glass. "Now, Snagsby," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "to go over this odd story again." "If you please, sir." "You told me when you were so good as to step round here last night "
It is enough to mention that both Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are very willing to oblige me and that Snagsby has, in busy times, a good deal of copying work to give out. He has all Tulkinghorn's, and an excellent business besides. I believe if our mutual friend Smallweed were put into the box, he could prove this?" Mr. Smallweed nods and appears greedy to be sworn. "Now, gentlemen of the jury," says Mr.
"Let me lay here quiet, and not be chivied any more," falters Jo, after he has been assisted to his bed and given medicine; "and be so kind any person as is a-passing nigh where I used fur to sweep, as to say to Mr. Snagsby that Jo, wot he knowed wunst, is a-movin' on right forards with his duty, and I'll be wery thankful!" At the boy's request, later, Mr.
Her that was upstairs, sir, when Mr. Bucket and me had the honour of waiting upon you with the sweeping-boy that night." "Oh! Yes, yes. Mademoiselle Hortense." "Indeed, sir?" Mr. Snagsby coughs his cough of submission behind his hat. "I am not acquainted myself with the names of foreigners in general, but I have no doubt it WOULD be that." Mr.
Snagsby looking deeply edified, Mr. Snagsby thinks it expedient on the whole to say amen, which is well received. "Now, my friends," proceeds Mr. Chadband, "since I am upon this theme " Guster presents herself. Mrs. Snagsby, in a spectral bass voice and without removing her eyes from Chadband, says with dreadful distinctness, "Go away!"
Whereas, and nevertheless, I find myself wrapped round with secrecy and mystery, till my life is a burden to me." His visitor professes his regret to hear it and asks him does he remember Jo. Mr. Snagsby answers with a suppressed groan, oh, don't he! "You couldn't name an individual human being except myself that my little woman is more set and determined against than Jo," says Mr. Snagsby.
Given out Wednesday night, eight o'clock; brought in Thursday morning, half after nine." The tail of Mr. Snagsby's eye becomes conscious of the head of Mrs. Snagsby looking in at the shop-door to know what he means by deserting his tea. Mr. Snagsby addresses an explanatory cough to Mrs. Snagsby, as who should say, "My dear, a customer!" "Half after nine, sir," repeats Mr. Snagsby.
Given out on the Wednesday night at eight o'clock, brought in on the Thursday morning at half after nine." "Nemo!" repeats Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Nemo is Latin for no one." "It must be English for some one, sir, I think," Mr. Snagsby submits with his deferential cough. "It is a person's name. Here it is, you see, sir! Forty-two folio.
Snagsby," says Jo, "out of a sov-ring as wos give me by a lady in a wale as sed she wos a servant and as come to my crossin one night and asked to be showd this 'ere ouse and the ouse wot him as you giv the writin to died at, and the berrin-ground wot he's berrid in. She ses to me she ses 'are you the boy at the inkwhich? she ses. I ses 'yes' I ses.
Snagsby descends and finds the two 'prentices intently contemplating a police constable, who holds a ragged boy by the arm. "Why, bless my heart," says Mr. Snagsby, "what's the matter!" "This boy," says the constable, "although he's repeatedly told to, won't move on " "I'm always a-moving on, sar," cries the boy, wiping away his grimy tears with his arm.
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