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Updated: June 18, 2025


When the last dusty little white-dressed girl had trudged solemnly by, and the head of the procession was already winding down the lane that led to Elder Wardle's place, he called himself a fool and turned back. He walked like a man who has suddenly remembered that which he should not have forgotten. And yet he had remembered nothing at all.

"You wondered why I liked Dickens. Well, I read him so that I could get a good meal by proxy. I used to gloat over the feasts at Wardle's, and Mr. Stiggins' hot toast. And when I met you you gave me everything. Murray Flint thinks that because I am thin and pale I am all spirit, and I'm afraid you have the same idea. You didn't dream, did you, that I was pale because I hadn't had enough to eat?

So I hunted the place up and found it. Then your Mrs. Wardle's husband I take it he was Moses Wardle the heavyweight in my young days he put me off the scent because of the name. The only way to make Prichard of her I can see is she married again. Well did no one ever hear of an old fool that got married again?" "That's nothing," said Miss Hawkins.

Wardle's daughter deeply and sincerely; that he was proud to avow that the feeling was mutual; and that if thousands of miles were placed between them, or oceans rolled their waters, he could never for an instant forget those happy days, when first et cetera, et cetera. Having delivered himself to this effect, Mr.

Wardle's mother occupied the post of honour on the right-hand corner of the chimney-piece; and various certificates of her having been brought up in the way she should go when young, and of her not having departed from it when old, ornamented the walls, in the form of samplers of ancient date, worsted landscapes of equal antiquity, and crimson silk tea-kettle holders of a more modern period.

'Jingle, said that versatile gentleman, taking the hint at once. 'Jingle Alfred Jingle, Esq., of No Hall, Nowhere. 'I shall be very happy, I am sure, said Mr. Pickwick. 'So shall I, said Mr. Alfred Jingle, drawing one arm through Mr. Pickwick's, and another through Mr. Wardle's, as he whispered confidentially in the ear of the former gentleman:

'Friend of yours! My dear sir, how are you? Friend of my friend's give me your hand, sir' and the stranger grasped Mr. Wardle's hand with all the fervour of a close intimacy of many years, and then stepped back a pace or two as if to take a full survey of his face and figure, and then shook hands with him again, if possible, more warmly than before. 'Well; and how came you here? said Mr.

Snodgrass supported the other; and Mr. Wardle's sister suffered under such a dreadful state of nervous alarm, that Mr. Tupman found it indispensably necessary to put his arm round her waist, to keep her up at all. Everybody was excited, except the fat boy, and he slept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.

And then, not noticing his snigger of satisfaction at having, as it were, drawn her: "What were you doing at Mr. Wardle's?" "Ah what was I a-doing at Moses Wardle's? I suppose you know what he was? Or maybe you don't?" "What was he?" The convict's ugly grin, going to the twisted side of his face, made it monstrous. "Mayhap you don't know what they call a scrapper?" said he. "I don't.

He had more recently taken an active part on behalf of Wardle's attack on the Duke of York and had supported the charges of ministerial corruption in the previous session.

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