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Updated: June 23, 2025
"I'm a-going somewheres." "Where is he going?" I asked. "Somewheres," repeated the boy in a louder tone. "I have been moved on, and moved on, more nor ever I was afore, since the t'other one give me the sov'ring. Mrs. Snagsby, she's always a- watching, and a-driving of me what have I done to her? and they're all a-watching and a-driving of me.
Snagsby is strangely reminded of another infant, encircled with light, that he has seen in pictures. "He is not three weeks old yet, sir," says the woman. "Is he your child?" "Mine." The other woman, who was bending over it when they came in, stoops down again and kisses it as it lies asleep. "You seem as fond of it as if you were the mother yourself," says Mr. Bucket.
Snagsby takes the opportunity of slightly turning his head to glance over his shoulder at his little woman and to make apologetic motions with his mouth to this effect: "Tul-king-horn rich in-flu-en-tial!" "Have you given this man work before?" asks Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Oh, dear, yes, sir! Work of yours." "Thinking of more important matters, I forget where you said he lived?" "Across the lane, sir.
The lady come herself and see me yes'day, and she ses, 'Jo, she ses, 'we thought we'd lost you, Jo, she ses; and she sits down a-smilin' so quiet, and don't pass a word nor yit a look upon me for having done it, she don't; and I turns agin the wall, I doos, Mr. Snagsby. And Mr.
The celebrated author was a little surprised, because in the books the young struggler had needed but one lift, apparently. However, he plowed through these papers, removing unnecessary flowers and digging up some acres of adjective-stumps, and then succeeded in getting two of the articles accepted. A week or so drifted by, and the grateful Snagsby arrived with another cargo.
Chadband, at last seeing his opportunity, makes his accustomed signal and rises with a smoking head, which he dabs with his pocket-handkerchief. Mrs. Snagsby whispers "Hush!" May this house live upon the fatness of the land; may corn and wine be plentiful therein; may it grow, may it thrive, may it prosper, may it advance, may it proceed, may it press forward!
After unspeakable suffering, productive of the utmost consternation, she is pronounced, by expresses from the bedroom, free from pain, though much exhausted, in which state of affairs Mr. Snagsby, trampled and crushed in the piano-forte removal, and extremely timid and feeble, ventures to come out from behind the door in the drawing-room.
But he has sufficient presence of mind to conduct his visitor into the little counting-house and to shut the door. "Are you a married man, sir?" "No, I am not." "Would you make the attempt, though single," says Mr. Snagsby in a melancholy whisper, "to speak as low as you can? For my little woman is a-listening somewheres, or I'll forfeit the business and five hundred pound!" In deep dejection Mr.
Snagsby makes a suitable response and goes homeward so confused by the events of the evening that he is doubtful of his being awake and out doubtful of the reality of the streets through which he goes doubtful of the reality of the moon that shines above him. He is presently reassured on these subjects by the unchallengeable reality of Mrs.
He so thoroughly meant what he said now that I involuntarily clasped my hands and felt the room turning away from me. But it stopped. Mr. Woodcourt came in, put a paper into his hand, and went away again. "Now, Mrs. Snagsby, the only amends you can make," said Mr. Bucket, rapidly glancing at it, "is to let me speak a word to this young lady in private here.
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