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Updated: June 20, 2025
'A butcher, repeated Mr. Roker, giving the nib of his pen a tap on the desk to cure it of a disinclination to mark. 'What a thorough-paced goer he used to be sure-ly! You remember Tom Martin, Neddy? said Roker, appealing to another man in the lodge, who was paring the mud off his shoes with a five-and-twenty-bladed pocket-knife.
'You wouldn't think to find such a room as this in the Farringdon Hotel, would you? said Mr. Roker, with a complacent smile. To this Mr.
'He must be a first-rater, said Sam. 'A1, replied Mr. Roker. Nothing daunted, even by this intelligence, Mr. Pickwick smilingly announced his determination to test the powers of the narcotic bedstead for that night; and Mr.
Pickwick, the guide, having at length reached another gallery, led the way into a small passage at the extreme end, opened a door, and disclosed an apartment of an appearance by no means inviting, containing eight or nine iron bedsteads. 'There, said Mr. Roker, holding the door open, and looking triumphantly round at Mr. Pickwick, 'there's a room! Mr.
Roker "muttered certain unpleasant invocations concerning his own eyes, limbs, and circulating fluids;" or where the drunken man who is singing comic songs in the Fleet received from Mr. Smangle "a gentle intimation, through the medium of the water-jug, that his audience were not musically disposed."
Pickwick stated the object with which he had returned. 'Didn't I say so, Neddy? The philosophical owner of the universal penknife growled an affirmative. 'I knowed you'd want a room for yourself, bless you! said Mr. Roker. 'Let me see. You'll want some furniture. You'll hire that of me, I suppose? That's the reg'lar thing. 'With great pleasure, replied Mr. Pickwick.
Roker, after informing him that he could retire to rest at whatever hour he thought proper, without any further notice or formality, walked off, leaving him standing with Sam in the gallery. It was getting dark; that is to say, a few gas jets were kindled in this place which was never light, by way of compliment to the evening, which had set in outside.
Pickwick, not very much gratified by this description of his future associates. 'What is that Simpson, Neddy? said Mr. Roker, turning to his companion. 'What Simpson? said Neddy. 'Why, him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman's going to be chummed on. 'Oh, him! replied Neddy; 'he's nothing exactly. He WAS a horse chaunter: he's a leg now. 'Ah, so I thought, rejoined Mr.
They passed through the inner gate, and descended a short flight of steps. The key was turned after them; and Mr. Pickwick found himself, for the first time in his life, within the walls of a debtors' prison. Mr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who had accompanied Mr.
He went into the infirmary, this morning; the doctor says his strength is to be kept up as much as possible; and the warden's sent him wine and broth and that, from his own house. It's not the warden's fault, you know, sir. 'Of course not, replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'I'm afraid, however, said Roker, shaking his head, 'that it's all up with him.
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