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Updated: May 31, 2025
It's a bad job," said Wemmick, scratching his head, "and I assure you I haven't been so cut up for a long time. What I look at is the sacrifice of so much portable property. Dear me!" "What I think of, Wemmick, is the poor owner of the property." "Yes, to be sure," said Wemmick.
Famous clients of ours that got us a world of credit. "Is it like him?" I asked, recoiling from the brute, as Wemmick spat upon his eyebrow and gave it a rub with his sleeve. "Like him? It's himself, you know. The cast was made in Newgate, directly after he was taken down. You had a particular fancy for me, hadn't you, Old Artful?" said Wemmick.
When we went down stairs again, Wemmick led me into my guardian's room, and said, "This you've seen already." "Pray," said I, as the two odious casts with the twitchy leer upon them caught my sight again, "whose likenesses are those?" "These?" said Wemmick, getting upon a chair, and blowing the dust off the horrible heads before bringing them down. "These are two celebrated ones.
Wemmick made them," added Miss Skiffins, "with his own hands out of his own head." Thinking that he did this to give me an opportunity of taking his Walworth sentiments, I seized the opportunity as soon as we were out of the Castle. Having thought of the matter with care, I approached my subject as if I had never hinted at it before.
"You're right," said Wemmick; "it's the genuine look. Much as if one nostril was caught up with a horse-hair and a little fish-hook. Yes, he came to the same end; quite the natural end here, I assure you. He forged wills, this blade did, if he didn't also put the supposed testators to sleep too. Yah, Bounceable! What a liar you were! I never met such a liar as you!"
After a short pause of repose, Miss Skiffins in the absence of the little servant who, it seemed, retired to the bosom of her family on Sunday afternoons washed up the tea-things, in a trifling lady-like amateur manner that compromised none of us. Then, she put on her gloves again, and we drew round the fire, and Wemmick said, "Now, Aged Parent, tip us the paper."
He gave me one other nod, compressed the post-office exceedingly, gave me one last nod, and went on with his breakfast. "Now," said Wemmick, "questioning being over," which he emphasized and repeated for my guidance, "I come to what I did, after hearing what I heard. I went to Garden Court to find you; not finding you, I went to Clarriker's to find Mr. Herbert."
We found a new set of people lingering outside, but Wemmick made a way among them by saying coolly yet decisively, "I tell you it's no use; he won't have a word to say to one of you;" and we soon got clear of them, and went on side by side. Casting my eyes on Mr.
The turnkey laughed, and gave us good day, and stood laughing at us over the spikes of the wicket when we descended the steps into the street. "Mind you, Mr. Pip," said Wemmick, gravely in my ear, as he took my arm to be more confidential; "I don't know that Mr. Jaggers does a better thing than the way in which he keeps himself so high. He's always so high.
He then explained this affectionate apostrophe, by touching his brooch representing the lady and the weeping willow at the tomb with the urn upon it, and saying, "Had it made for me, express!" "Is the lady anybody?" said I. "No," returned Wemmick. "Only his game.
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