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Updated: May 23, 2025
"The lady will excuse the front kitchen; we use it as our workaday sitting-room. The back is Guster's bedroom, and in it she's a-carrying on, poor thing, to a frightful extent!" We went downstairs, followed by Mr. Snagsby, as I soon found the little man to be. In the front kitchen, sitting by the fire, was Mrs. Snagsby, with very red eyes and a very severe expression of face.
The law-stationer's establishment is, in Guster's eyes, a temple of plenty and splendour. She believes the little drawing- room upstairs, always kept, as one may say, with its hair in papers and its pinafore on, to be the most elegant apartment in Christendom. The portraits it displays in oil and plenty of it too of Mr. Snagsby looking at Mrs. Snagsby and of Mrs. Snagsby looking at Mr.
Now, come, you're what I call an intellectual woman with your soul too large for your body, if you come to that, and chafing it and you know me, and you recollect where you saw me last, and what was talked of in that circle. Don't you? Yes! Very well. This young lady is that young lady." Mrs. Snagsby appeared to understand the reference better than I did at the time. Why, I am ashamed of you!
There is a tie of many suffering years between us two, and it is the only tie I ever had on earth that Chancery has not broken!" Mrs. Snagsby Sees It All There is disquietude in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street. Black suspicion hides in that peaceful region. The mass of Cook's Courtiers are in their usual state of mind, no better and no worse; but Mr.
On which interruption Mrs. Chadband glares and Mrs. Snagsby says, "For shame!" "I hear a voice," says Chadband; "is it a still small voice, my friends? I fear not, though I fain would hope so " "Ah h!" from Mrs. Snagsby. "Which says, 'I don't know. Then I will tell you why.
Mr Snagsby puts up at one of these inky wells and greets the stranger with his cough of general preparation for business. "You don't remember me, Mr. Snagsby?" The stationer's heart begins to thump heavily, for his old apprehensions have never abated. It is as much as he can do to answer, "No, sir, I can't say I do.
Among the many notable features of this veritable chef-d'oeuvre of under 250 pages is the sense it conveys of the superb gusto of Dickens's actual living and breathing and being, the vindication achieved of two ordinarily rather maligned novels, The Old Curiosity Shop and Little Dorrit, and the insight shown into Dickens's portraiture of women, more particularly those of the shrill-voiced and nagging or whining variety, the 'better halves' of Weller, Varden, Snagsby and Joe Gargery, not to speak of the Miggs, the Gummidge, and the M'Stinger.
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.
Snagsby, at last hearing the cock at the little dairy in Cursitor Street go into that disinterested ecstasy of his on the subject of daylight, says, drawing a long breath, though the most patient of men, "I thought you was dead, I am sure!" It is enough that daylight comes, morning comes, noon comes.
Jo never heard of any such book. Its compilers and the Reverend Chadband are all one to him, except that he knows the Reverend Chadband and would rather run away from him for an hour than hear him talk for five minutes. "It an't no good my waiting here no longer," thinks Jo. "Mr. Snagsby an't a-going to say nothink to me to-night." And downstairs he shuffles.
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