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Updated: June 20, 2025
"Can you give me any idea as to what might have kept them away?" said the master. Hanky Rogers looked quickly around, began, "Playin' hook " in a loud voice, but stopped suddenly without finishing the word, and became inaudible. The master saw fit to ignore him. "Bee-huntin'," said Annie Roker vivaciously. "Who is?" asked the master. "Provy Smith, of course. Allers bee-huntin'. Gets lots o' honey.
'You're wery good, Sir, replied Mr. Roker, accepting the proffered glass. 'Yours, sir. 'Thank you, said Mr. Pickwick. 'I'm sorry to say that your landlord's wery bad to-night, Sir, said Roker, setting down the glass, and inspecting the lining of his hat preparatory to putting it on again. 'What! The Chancery prisoner! exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
Pickwick's face, however, betokened such a very trifling portion of satisfaction at the appearance of his lodging, that Mr. Roker looked, for a reciprocity of feeling, into the countenance of Samuel Weller, who, until now, had observed a dignified silence. 'There's a room, young man, observed Mr. Roker. 'I see it, replied Sam, with a placid nod of the head.
The doctor said, six months ago, that nothing but change of air could save him. 'Great Heaven! exclaimed Mr. Pickwick; 'has this man been slowly murdered by the law for six months? 'I don't know about that, replied Roker, weighing the hat by the brim in both hands. 'I suppose he'd have been took the same, wherever he was.
This is no fiction. Not a week passes over our head, but, in every one of our prisons for debt, some of these men must inevitably expire in the slow agonies of want, if they were not relieved by their fellow-prisoners. Turning these things in his mind, as he mounted the narrow staircase at the foot of which Roker had left him, Mr.
Sam, having been formally delivered into the warder's custody, to the intense astonishment of Roker, and to the evident emotion of even the phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once into the prison, walked straight to his master's room, and knocked at the door. 'Come in, said Mr. Pickwick. Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled. 'Ah, Sam, my good lad! said Mr.
Roker then proceeded to mount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the place which has just been the subject of discussion, in which ascent he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam. 'There, said Mr.
Roker, shaking his head slowly from side to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the grated windows before him, as if he were fondly recalling some peaceful scene of his early youth; 'it seems but yesterday that he whopped the coal-heaver down Fox-under-the-Hill by the wharf there.
'Live down there! Yes, and die down there, too, very often! replied Mr. Roker; 'and what of that? Who's got to say anything agin it? Live down there! Yes, and a wery good place it is to live in, ain't it? As Roker turned somewhat fiercely upon Mr.
"The saints may know, but no man does, unless it was that Crooked Nan of Strait Glen overlooked the poor child," returned the esquire. "Ever since he fell into the red beck he hath done nought but peak and pine, and be twisted with cramps and aches, with sores breaking out on him; though there's a honeycomb-stone from Roker over his bed.
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