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“You’re right,” said Wemmick; “it’s the genuine look. Much as if onenostril was caught up with a horse-hair and a little fish-hook. Yes, hecame to the same end; quite the natural end here, I assure you. Heforged wills, this blade did, if he didn’t also put the supposedtestators to sleep too. You were a gentlemanly Cove, though” (Mr.Wemmick was again apostrophising), “and you said you could write Greek.Yah, Bounceable! What a liar you were! I never met such a liar as you!”Before putting his late friend on his shelf again, Wemmick touched thelargest of his mourning rings and said, “Sent out to buy it for me,only the day before.”While he was putting up the other cast and coming down from the chair,the thought crossed my mind that all his personal jewelry was derivedfrom like sources. As he had shown no diffidence on the subject, Iventured on the liberty of asking him the question, when he stood | 1Dickens |
water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossyand brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks amongthe woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through witheredleaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, settingoff the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the greatcompactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating andbeseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten afterdinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth amongthese choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull andstagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there wassomething going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round andround their little world in slow and passionless excitement.The Grocers'! oh, the Grocers'! nearly closed, with perhapstwo shutters down, or one; but through those gaps suchglimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on thecounter made a merry sound, or that the twine and rollerparted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled | 1Dickens |
“You know you must say yes; don’t you?” said Mr. Jaggers.“I don’t ask you what you owe, because you don’t know; and if you didknow, you wouldn’t tell me; you would say less. Yes, yes, my friend,”cried Mr. Jaggers, waving his forefinger to stop me as I made a show ofprotesting: “it’s likely enough that you think you wouldn’t, but youwould. You’ll excuse me, but I know better than you. Now, take thispiece of paper in your hand. You have got it? Very good. Now, unfold itand tell me what it is.”“This is a bank-note,” said I, “for five hundred pounds.”“That is a bank-note,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, “for five hundred pounds.And a very handsome sum of money too, I think. You consider it so?”“How could I do otherwise!”“Ah! But answer the question,” said Mr. Jaggers.“You consider it, undoubtedly, a handsome sum of money. Now, thathandsome sum of money, Pip, is your own. It is a present to you on this | 1Dickens |
needed for its effect, but I little dreamed that he could have apersonal reason for asking.“I thought no more of the matter until the vicar’s telegram reached meat Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before thenews could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. ButI returned at once. Of course, I could not listen to the detailswithout feeling assured that my poison had been used. I came round tosee you on the chance that some other explanation had suggested itselfto you. But there could be none. I was convinced that MortimerTregennis was the murderer; that for the sake of money, and with theidea, perhaps, that if the other members of his family were all insanehe would be the sole guardian of their joint property, he had used thedevil’s-foot powder upon them, driven two of them out of their senses,and killed his sister Brenda, the one human being whom I have ever | 2Doyle |
employ my time better.” “And you will report very carefully to me,” said Holmes. “When a crisis comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I suppose that by Saturday all might be ready?” “Would that suit Dr. Watson?” “Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at the ten-thirty train from Paddington.” We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry of triumph, and diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from under a cabinet. “My missing boot!” he cried. “May all our difficulties vanish as easily!” said Sherlock “But it is a very singular thing,” Dr. Mortimer remarked. “I searched this room carefully before lunch.” “And so did I,” said Baskerville. “Every inch of it.” “There was certainly no boot in it then.” “In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were | 2Doyle |
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creationof derivative works, reports, performances and research. ProjectGutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you maydo practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protectedby U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademarklicense, especially commercial redistribution.THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSEPLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORKTo protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the freedistribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “ProjectGutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the FullProject Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online atSection 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree toand accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property | 2Doyle |
“Am I not?” Mr. Lorry opened his hands, and extended them outwards withBetween the eyebrows and just over the little feminine nose, the line ofwhich was as delicate and fine as it was possible to be, the expressiondeepened itself as she took her seat thoughtfully in the chair by whichshe had hitherto remained standing. He watched her as she mused, and themoment she raised her eyes again, went on:“In your adopted country, I presume, I cannot do better than address youas a young English lady, Miss Manette?”“If you please, sir.”“Miss Manette, I am a man of business. I have a business charge toacquit myself of. In your reception of it, don’t heed me any more thanif I was a speaking machine--truly, I am not much else. I will, withyour leave, relate to you, miss, the story of one of our customers.”He seemed wilfully to mistake the word she had repeated, when he added, | 1Dickens |
screwing and complaining sound down below, and their bent figures werestrained, as if by a weight. By slow degrees the weight broke away theearth upon it, and came to the surface. Young Jerry very well knew whatit would be; but, when he saw it, and saw his honoured parent about towrench it open, he was so frightened, being new to the sight, that hemade off again, and never stopped until he had run a mile or more.He would not have stopped then, for anything less necessary than breath,it being a spectral sort of race that he ran, and one highly desirableto get to the end of. He had a strong idea that the coffin he had seenwas running after him; and, pictured as hopping on behind him, boltupright, upon its narrow end, always on the point of overtaking himand hopping on at his side--perhaps taking his arm--it was a pursuer to | 1Dickens |
comes to knocking my old man about—”“Knocking Mr. Warren about?”“Using him roughly, anyway.”“But who used him roughly?”“Ah! that’s what we want to know! It was this morning, sir. Mr. Warrenis a timekeeper at Morton and Waylight’s, in Tottenham Court Road. Hehas to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning he had notgone ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw acoat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside thecurb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door and shot himout. He lay in the roadway so shaken in his wits that he never saw whatbecame of the cab. When he picked himself up he found he was onHampstead Heath; so he took a bus home, and there he lies now on hissofa, while I came straight round to tell you what had happened.”“Most interesting,” said Holmes. “Did he observe the appearance of | 2Doyle |
Baden? Both she and it reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitousroute. This much I gathered from the manager of Cook’s local office. Soto Baden I went, after dispatching to Holmes an account of all myproceedings and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorousAt Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances had stayedat the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she had made theacquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from SouthAmerica. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort andoccupation in religion. Dr. Shlessinger’s remarkable personality, hiswhole hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from adisease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected herdeeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of theconvalescent saint. He spent his day, as the manager described it tome, upon a lounge-chair on the veranda, with an attendant lady uponeither side of him. He was preparing a map of the Holy Land, with | 2Doyle |
Let us express the negative part first. This tells us that noneof the Cakes, belonging to the upper half of the cupboard, are tobe found OUTSIDE the central Square: that is, the two compartments,No. 9 and No. 10, are EMPTY. This, of course, is represented by | 0 | 0 | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |But we have yet to represent "Some x are m." This tells us thatthere are SOME Cakes in the oblong consisting of No. 11 and No.12: so we place our red counter, as in the previous example, onthe division-line between No. 11 and No. 12, and the result is | 0 | 0 | | | | | | | | -1- | | | | | | |Now let us try one or two interpretations.What are we to make of this, with regard to x and y? | 0Caroll |
"Sha'n't," said the cook.The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said in a low voice,"Your Majesty must cross-examine _this_ witness.""Well, if I must, I must," the King said with a melancholy air, and,after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes werenearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, "What are tarts made of?""Pepper, mostly," said the cook."Treacle," said a sleepy voice behind her."Collar that Dormouse," the Queen shrieked out. "Behead that Dormouse!Turn that Dormouse out of court! Suppress him! Pinch him! Off with hisFor some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the Dormouseturned out, and, by the time they had settled down again, the cook had"Never mind!" said the King, with an air of great relief. "Call the nextwitness." And he added in an undertone to the Queen, "Really, my dear,_you_ must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my forehead | 0Caroll |
was furrowed and bald, and that the long iron-grey hair grew only onits sides. But, I saw nothing that in the least explained him. On thecontrary, I saw him next moment, once more holding out both his hands“What do you mean?” said I, half suspecting him to be mad.He stopped in his looking at me, and slowly rubbed his right hand overhis head. “It’s disapinting to a man,” he said, in a coarse brokenvoice, “arter having looked for’ard so distant, and come so fur; butyou’re not to blame for that,—neither on us is to blame for that. I’llspeak in half a minute. Give me half a minute, please.”He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered hisforehead with his large brown veinous hands. I looked at himattentively then, and recoiled a little from him; but I did not know“There’s no one nigh,” said he, looking over his shoulder; “is there?” | 1Dickens |
anything since then to throw any light upon what became of him.”“It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,” said“Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all themorning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true;and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, Iwas always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he wouldclaim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed strange talk for awedding-morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it.”“Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that someunforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?”“Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would nothave talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw happened.”“But you have no notion as to what it could have been?”“One more question. How did your mother take the matter?” | 2Doyle |
“Mrs. Whimple,” said Herbert, when I told him so, “is the best ofhousewives, and I really do not know what my Clara would do without hermotherly help. For, Clara has no mother of her own, Handel, and norelation in the world but old Gruffandgrim.”“Surely that’s not his name, Herbert?”“No, no,” said Herbert, “that’s my name for him. His name is Mr.Barley. But what a blessing it is for the son of my father and motherto love a girl who has no relations, and who can never bother herselfor anybody else about her family!”Herbert had told me on former occasions, and now reminded me, that hefirst knew Miss Clara Barley when she was completing her education atan establishment at Hammersmith, and that on her being recalled home tonurse her father, he and she had confided their affection to themotherly Mrs. Whimple, by whom it had been fostered and regulated withequal kindness and discretion, ever since. It was understood that | 1Dickens |
inscrutably appeared to stand to reason, in the minds of the wholecompany, that I was an excrescence on the entertainment. And to make itworse, they all asked me from time to time,—in short, whenever they hadnothing else to do,—why I didn’t enjoy myself? And what could Ipossibly do then, but say I _was_ enjoying myself,—when I wasn’t!However, they were grown up and had their own way, and they made themost of it. That swindling Pumblechook, exalted into the beneficentcontriver of the whole occasion, actually took the top of the table;and, when he addressed them on the subject of my being bound, and hadfiendishly congratulated them on my being liable to imprisonment if Iplayed at cards, drank strong liquors, kept late hours or bad company,or indulged in other vagaries which the form of my indentures appearedto contemplate as next to inevitable, he placed me standing on a chairbeside him to illustrate his remarks. | 1Dickens |
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BELIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE ORINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover adefect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you canreceive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending awritten explanation to the person you received the work from. If youreceived the work on a physical medium, you must return the mediumwith your written explanation. The person or entity that provided youwith the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy inlieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the personor entity providing it to you may choose to give you a secondopportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. Ifthe second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing | 0Caroll |
to them!--I doubt if they durst spare him after the demonstration in the“And so do I. I heard the fall of the axe in that sound.”Mr. Lorry leaned his arm upon the door-post, and bowed his face upon it.“Don’t despond,” said Carton, very gently; “don’t grieve. I encouragedDoctor Manette in this idea, because I felt that it might one day beconsolatory to her. Otherwise, she might think ‘his life was wantonlythrown away or wasted,’ and that might trouble her.”“Yes, yes, yes,” returned Mr. Lorry, drying his eyes, “you are right.But he will perish; there is no real hope.”“Yes. He will perish: there is no real hope,” echoed Carton.And walked with a settled step, down-stairs.Sydney Carton paused in the street, not quite decided where to go. “AtTellson’s banking-house at nine,” he said, with a musing face. “Shall Ido well, in the mean time, to show myself? I think so. It is best that | 1Dickens |
the light of her face, the touch of her hand, had a strong beneficialinfluence with him almost always. Not absolutely always, for she couldrecall some occasions on which her power had failed; but they were fewand slight, and she believed them over.Mr. Darnay had kissed her hand fervently and gratefully, and had turnedto Mr. Stryver, whom he warmly thanked. Mr. Stryver, a man of littlemore than thirty, but looking twenty years older than he was, stout,loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of delicacy, had a pushingway of shouldering himself (morally and physically) into companies andconversations, that argued well for his shouldering his way up in life.He still had his wig and gown on, and he said, squaring himself at hislate client to that degree that he squeezed the innocent Mr. Lorry cleanout of the group: “I am glad to have brought you off with honour, Mr.Darnay. It was an infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the | 1Dickens |
threw the cards down on the table when she had won them all, as if shedespised them for having been won of me.“When shall I have you here again?” said Miss Havisham. “Let me think.”I was beginning to remind her that to-day was Wednesday, when shechecked me with her former impatient movement of the fingers of her“There, there! I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing ofweeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?”“Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat, and let himroam and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip.”I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up, and shestood it in the place where we had found it. Until she opened the sideentrance, I had fancied, without thinking about it, that it mustnecessarily be night-time. The rush of the daylight quite confoundedme, and made me feel as if I had been in the candlelight of the strange | 1Dickens |
“God bless you!” cried the prisoner passionately. “I would have enduredimprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my miserablesecret as a family blot to my children.“You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was aschoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent education.I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally became areporter on an evening paper in London. One day my editor wished tohave a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis, and Ivolunteered to supply them. There was the point from which all myadventures started. It was only by trying begging as an amateur that Icould get the facts upon which to base my articles. When an actor Ihad, of course, learned all the secrets of making up, and had beenfamous in the green-room for my skill. I took advantage now of myattainments. I painted my face, and to make myself as pitiable as | 2Doyle |
“Ah, the unfortunate, miserable people! So oppressed, too--as you say.”“As _you_ say,” madame retorted, correcting him, and deftly knitting anextra something into his name that boded him no good.“Pardon me; certainly it was I who said so, but you naturally think so.“_I_ think?” returned madame, in a high voice. “I and my husband haveenough to do to keep this wine-shop open, without thinking. All wethink, here, is how to live. That is the subject _we_ think of, andit gives us, from morning to night, enough to think about, withoutembarrassing our heads concerning others. _I_ think for others? No, no.”The spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could find or make, didnot allow his baffled state to express itself in his sinister face; but,stood with an air of gossiping gallantry, leaning his elbow on MadameDefarge’s little counter, and occasionally sipping his cognac.“A bad business this, madame, of Gaspard’s execution. Ah! the poor | 1Dickens |
of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After sipping his cognac to the“Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to an Englishman; toone who, like herself, is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah,poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!), it is a curious thing that she isgoing to marry the nephew of Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspardwas exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the presentMarquis. But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he isMr. Charles Darnay. D’Aulnais is the name of his mother’s family.”Madame Defarge knitted steadily, but the intelligence had a palpableeffect upon her husband. Do what he would, behind the little counter,as to the striking of a light and the lighting of his pipe, he wastroubled, and his hand was not trustworthy. The spy would have been nospy if he had failed to see it, or to record it in his mind. | 1Dickens |
stuck on to us until we came to London. I paid her bill and her ticket.Once in London, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left theseout-of-date jewels to pay her bills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and I’m“I _mean_ to find her,” said Sherlock Holmes. “I’m going through thishouse till I do find her.”“Where is your warrant?”Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. “This will have to servetill a better one comes.”“Why, you’re a common burglar.”“So you might describe me,” said Holmes cheerfully. “My companion isalso a dangerous ruffian. And together we are going through yourOur opponent opened the door.“Fetch a policeman, Annie!” said he. There was a whisk of feminineskirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut.“Our time is limited, Watson,” said Holmes. “If you try to stop us,Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffin whichwas brought into your house?” | 2Doyle |
Chapter 1 Mr. Sherlock Holmes Chapter 2 The Curse of the Baskervilles Chapter 3 The Problem Chapter 4 Sir Henry Baskerville Chapter 5 Three Broken Threads Chapter 6 Baskerville Hall Chapter 7 The Stapletons of Merripit House Chapter 8 First Report of Dr. Watson Chapter 9 The Light upon the Moor [Second Report of Dr. Watson] Chapter 10 Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson Chapter 11 The Man on the Tor Chapter 12 Death on the Moor Chapter 13 Fixing the Nets Chapter 14 The Hound of the Baskervilles Chapter 15 A Retrospection Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, | 2Doyle |
him back to her?It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late hehad, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the farthesteast of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been confined to oneday, and he had come back, twitching and shattered, in the evening. Butnow the spell had been upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he laythere, doubtless among the dregs of the docks, breathing in the poisonor sleeping off the effects. There he was to be found, she was sure ofit, at the Bar of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do?How could she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a placeand pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of it.Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second thought, | 2Doyle |
Ha, ha! That was well done. Let him eat it now!” Madame put her knifeunder her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play.The people immediately behind Madame Defarge, explaining the cause ofher satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explaining toothers, and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded with theclapping of hands. Similarly, during two or three hours of drawl,and the winnowing of many bushels of words, Madame Defarge’s frequentexpressions of impatience were taken up, with marvellous quickness, ata distance: the more readily, because certain men who had by somewonderful exercise of agility climbed up the external architectureto look in from the windows, knew Madame Defarge well, and acted as atelegraph between her and the crowd outside the building.At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope orprotection, directly down upon the old prisoner’s head. The favour wastoo much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had | 1Dickens |
took out the key again, and held it in his hand. All this he did,methodically, and with as loud and harsh an accompaniment of noise as hecould make. Finally, he walked across the room with a measured tread towhere the window was. He stopped there, and faced round.The garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like, was dimand dark: for, the window of dormer shape, was in truth a door in theroof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of stores fromthe street: unglazed, and closing up the middle in two pieces, like anyother door of French construction. To exclude the cold, one half of thisdoor was fast closed, and the other was opened but a very little way.Such a scanty portion of light was admitted through these means, that itwas difficult, on first coming in, to see anything; and long habitalone could have slowly formed in any one, the ability to do any work | 1Dickens |
began rather timidly: “Am I addressing the White Queen?”“Well, yes, if you call that a-dressing,” The Queen said. “It isn’t_my_ notion of the thing, at all.”Alice thought it would never do to have an argument at the verybeginning of their conversation, so she smiled and said, “If yourMajesty will only tell me the right way to begin, I’ll do it as well as“But I don’t want it done at all!” groaned the poor Queen. “I’ve beena-dressing myself for the last two hours.”It would have been all the better, as it seemed to Alice, if she hadgot some one else to dress her, she was so dreadfully untidy. “Everysingle thing’s crooked,” Alice thought to herself, “and she’s all overpins!—may I put your shawl straight for you?” she added aloud.“I don’t know what’s the matter with it!” the Queen said, in amelancholy voice. “It’s out of temper, I think. I’ve pinned it here, | 0Caroll |
beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there isa man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!”He said, “Farewell!” said a last “God bless you!” and left her.To the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool inFleet-street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number andvariety of objects in movement were every day presented. Who could situpon anything in Fleet-street during the busy hours of the day, andnot be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tendingwestward with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun,both ever tending to the plains beyond the range of red and purple wherethe sun goes down!With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two streams,like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on dutywatching one stream--saving that Jerry had no expectation of their ever | 1Dickens |
“Of Friday, June 19th.”“Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What d’youwant to frighten a chap for?” He sank his face onto his arms and beganto sob in a high treble key.“I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this twodays for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!”“So I am. But you’ve got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here a fewhours, three pipes, four pipes—I forget how many. But I’ll go home withyou. I wouldn’t frighten Kate—poor little Kate. Give me your hand! Have“Yes, I have one waiting.”“Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I owe,Watson. I am all off colour. I can do nothing for myself.”I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers,holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug,and looking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by | 2Doyle |
not allowed to call him uncle, under the severest penalties.“Mrs. Joe,” said Uncle Pumblechook, a large hard-breathing middle-agedslow man, with a mouth like a fish, dull staring eyes, and sandy hairstanding upright on his head, so that he looked as if he had just beenall but choked, and had that moment come to, “I have brought you as thecompliments of the season—I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of sherrywine—and I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of port wine.”Every Christmas Day he presented himself, as a profound novelty, withexactly the same words, and carrying the two bottles like dumb-bells.Every Christmas Day, Mrs. Joe replied, as she now replied, “O, Un—clePum-ble—chook! This _is_ kind!” Every Christmas Day, he retorted, as henow retorted, “It’s no more than your merits. And now are you allbobbish, and how’s Sixpennorth of halfpence?” meaning me.We dined on these occasions in the kitchen, and adjourned, for the nuts | 1Dickens |
his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to any placewith ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite asgracefully and like a supernatural creature, as it was possiblehe could have done in any lofty hall.And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had inshowing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind,generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poormen, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there hewent, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; andon the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stoppedto bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinkling of historch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen "Bob" a-weekhimself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of hisChristian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Presentblessed his four-roomed house!Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed outbut poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, | 1Dickens |
wouldn't for the wealth of all the world have crushed thatbraided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious littleshoe, I wouldn't have plucked it off, God bless my soul! tosave my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as theydid, bold young brood, I couldn't have done it; I shouldhave expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment,and never come straight again. And yet I shouldhave dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to havequestioned her, that she might have opened them; to havelooked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, and neverraised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, an inch ofwhich would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I shouldhave liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest licenceof a child, and yet to have been man enough to know itsBut now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a | 1Dickens |
There was but a gaoler left, along with two of the four men who hadtaken him last night, and Barsad. The people had all poured out to theshow in the streets. Barsad proposed to the rest, “Let her embracehim then; it is but a moment.” It was silently acquiesced in, and theypassed her over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, byleaning over the dock, could fold her in his arms.“Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. Weshall meet again, where the weary are at rest!”They were her husband’s words, as he held her to his bosom.“I can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from above: don’t sufferfor me. A parting blessing for our child.”“I send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say farewell to her by“My husband. No! A moment!” He was tearing himself apart from her. | 1Dickens |
Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained with him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed him about my discovery and asked him whether he would care to accompany me to Coombe Tracey. At first he was very eager to come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might be better. The more formal we made the visit the less information we might obtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest. When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the horses, and I made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate. I had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and well appointed. A maid showed me in without ceremony, and as I | 2Doyle |
“It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The words arewritten with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not unusualpattern. You will observe that the paper is torn away at the side hereafter the printing was done, so that the ‘S’ of ‘SOAP’ is partly gone.Suggestive, Watson, is it not?”“Exactly. There was evidently some mark, some thumbprint, somethingwhich might give a clue to the person’s identity. Now, Mrs. Warren, yousay that the man was of middle size, dark, and bearded. What age would“Youngish, sir—not over thirty.”“Well, can you give me no further indications?”“He spoke good English, sir, and yet I thought he was a foreigner by“And he was well dressed?”“Very smartly dressed, sir—quite the gentleman. Dark clothes—nothing“He gave no name?”“And has had no letters or callers?”“But surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?”“No, sir; he looks after himself entirely.”“Dear me! that is certainly remarkable. What about his luggage?” | 2Doyle |
do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and“But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can doin the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vilethat the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard’s blow,does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and thenthe whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word ofcomplaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crimeand the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields,filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of thelaw. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness whichmay go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Hadthis lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I | 2Doyle |
well kept, and Lucie was unconscious and happy; but he could not fail toobserve that the shoemaker, whose hand had been a little out at first,was growing dreadfully skilful, and that he had never been so intent onhis work, and that his hands had never been so nimble and expert, as inthe dusk of the ninth evening.Worn out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry fell asleep at his post. On thetenth morning of his suspense, he was startled by the shining of the suninto the room where a heavy slumber had overtaken him when it was darkHe rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when he haddone so, whether he was not still asleep. For, going to the door of theDoctor’s room and looking in, he perceived that the shoemaker’s benchand tools were put aside again, and that the Doctor himself sat readingat the window. He was in his usual morning dress, and his face (which | 1Dickens |
hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers andmoustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed,when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat,gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaitersover elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office inLeadenhall Street. Anybody bringing,” &c, &c.“That will do,” said Holmes. “As to the letters,” he continued,glancing over them, “they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue inthem to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is oneremarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you.”“They are typewritten,” I remarked.“Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neatlittle ‘Hosmer Angel’ at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but nosuperscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. Thepoint about the signature is very suggestive—in fact, we may call it“My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears | 2Doyle |
will read it to you.” Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following curious, old-world narrative: “Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down with all belief that it occurred even as is here set forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer and repentance it may be removed. Learn then from this story not to fear the fruits of the past, but | 2Doyle |
effort to conceal his own writing suggests that that writing might be known, or come to be known, by you. Again, you will observe that the words are not gummed on in an accurate line, but that some are much higher than others. ‘Life,’ for example is quite out of its proper place. That may point to carelessness or it may point to agitation and hurry upon the part of the cutter. On the whole I incline to the latter view, since the matter was evidently important, and it is unlikely that the composer of such a letter would be careless. If he were in a hurry it opens up the interesting question why he should be in a hurry, since any letter posted up to early morning would reach Sir Henry before he would leave his hotel. Did the composer fear an interruption—and “We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork,” said Dr. | 2Doyle |
gorse bushes through which the path winds and struck him down as hepassed. At first they were of a mind to let him enter the house and tokill him as a detected burglar; but they argued that if they were mixedup in an inquiry their own identity would at once be publicly disclosedand they would be open to further attacks. With the death of Garcia,the pursuit might cease, since such a death might frighten others from“All would now have been well for them had it not been for my knowledgeof what they had done. I have no doubt that there were times when mylife hung in the balance. I was confined to my room, terrorised by themost horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to break my spirit—see thisstab on my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of my arms—and agag was thrust into my mouth on the one occasion when I tried to call | 2Doyle |
us, and finally, with a woman’s quick intuition, fastening upon mycompanion, “I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tellyou so. I know that James didn’t do it. I know it, and I want you tostart upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt uponthat point. We have known each other since we were little children, andI know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted tohurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.”“I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,” said Sherlock Holmes. “You mayrely upon my doing all that I can.”“But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Doyou not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he“I think that it is very probable.”“There, now!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly | 2Doyle |
on the evening before I go away.”Biddy said no more. Handsomely forgiving her, I soon exchanged anaffectionate good night with her and Joe, and went up to bed. When Igot into my little room, I sat down and took a long look at it, as amean little room that I should soon be parted from and raised above,for ever. It was furnished with fresh young remembrances too, and evenat the same moment I fell into much the same confused division of mindbetween it and the better rooms to which I was going, as I had been inso often between the forge and Miss Havisham’s, and Biddy and Estella.The sun had been shining brightly all day on the roof of my attic, andthe room was warm. As I put the window open and stood looking out, Isaw Joe come slowly forth at the dark door, below, and take a turn or | 1Dickens |
“Everybody!” from all throats.“The news is of him. He is among us!”“Among us!” from the universal throat again. “And dead?”“Not dead! He feared us so much--and with reason--that he caused himselfto be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they havefound him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. I haveseen him but now, on his way to the Hotel de Ville, a prisoner. I havesaid that he had reason to fear us. Say all! _Had_ he reason?”Wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he hadnever known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if hecould have heard the answering cry.A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife lookedsteadfastly at one another. The Vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drumwas heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter.“Patriots!” said Defarge, in a determined voice, “are we ready?” | 1Dickens |
with more decision, “It has come to a point. I go on duty soon, andcan’t overstay my time. You told me you had a proposal; what is it?Now, it is of no use asking too much of me. Ask me to do anything in myoffice, putting my head in great extra danger, and I had better trust mylife to the chances of a refusal than the chances of consent. In short,I should make that choice. You talk of desperation. We are all desperatehere. Remember! I may denounce you if I think proper, and I can swear myway through stone walls, and so can others. Now, what do you want with“Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?”“I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape possible,” said the spy, firmly.“Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at the | 1Dickens |
have predicated that she did not often make mistakes against herselfin any of the reckonings over which she presided. Madame Defarge beingsensitive to cold, was wrapped in fur, and had a quantity of brightshawl twined about her head, though not to the concealment of her largeearrings. Her knitting was before her, but she had laid it down to pickher teeth with a toothpick. Thus engaged, with her right elbow supportedby her left hand, Madame Defarge said nothing when her lord came in, butcoughed just one grain of cough. This, in combination with the liftingof her darkly defined eyebrows over her toothpick by the breadth of aline, suggested to her husband that he would do well to look round theshop among the customers, for any new customer who had dropped in whilehe stepped over the way.The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until theyrested upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who were seated in | 1Dickens |
him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talkingexcitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presentlyhe emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up tothe cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at itearnestly, ‘Drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘first to Gross &Hankey’s in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in theEdgeware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’“Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do wellto follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachmanwith his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while allthe tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn’tpulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I onlycaught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with | 2Doyle |
“Has been here some days--three or four--I don’t know how many--I can’tcollect my thoughts. An errand of generosity brought him here unknown tous; he was stopped at the barrier, and sent to prison.”The old man uttered an irrepressible cry. Almost at the same moment, thebell of the great gate rang again, and a loud noise of feet and voicescame pouring into the courtyard.“What is that noise?” said the Doctor, turning towards the window.“Don’t look!” cried Mr. Lorry. “Don’t look out! Manette, for your life,don’t touch the blind!”The Doctor turned, with his hand upon the fastening of the window, andsaid, with a cool, bold smile:“My dear friend, I have a charmed life in this city. I have beena Bastille prisoner. There is no patriot in Paris--in Paris? InFrance--who, knowing me to have been a prisoner in the Bastille, wouldtouch me, except to overwhelm me with embraces, or carry me in triumph. | 1Dickens |
whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out,—as ifit were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spirting blood,—andfinally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, andhe again leaned on his hammer,—“Are you all right now?” demanded Joe.“Ah! I am all right,” said gruff Old Orlick.“Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men,” saidJoe, “let it be a half-holiday for all.”My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing,—she wasa most unscrupulous spy and listener,—and she instantly looked in atone of the windows.“Like you, you fool!” said she to Joe, “giving holidays to great idlehulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages inthat way. I wish _I_ was his master!”“You’d be everybody’s master, if you durst,” retorted Orlick, with an(“Let her alone,” said Joe.)“I’d be a match for all noodles and all rogues,” returned my sister, | 1Dickens |
“He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. He would also be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwise by the present owner, who can, of course, do what he “And have you made your will, Sir Henry?” “No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. I’ve had no time, for it was only yesterday that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I feel that the money should go with the title and estate. That was my poor uncle’s idea. How is the owner going to restore the glories of the Baskervilles if he has not money enough to keep up the property? House, land, and dollars must go together.” “Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to the advisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay. There is only one provision which I must make. You certainly must | 2Doyle |
journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), whenmy way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembereddoor, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, andwith the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with akeen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing hisextraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as Ilooked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouetteagainst the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with hishead sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, whoknew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their ownstory. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-createddreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the belland was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own. | 2Doyle |
black swan was a matter of course--and in truth it wassomething very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit madethe gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot;Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour;Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dustedthe hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tinycorner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs foreverybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guardupon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lestthey should shriek for goose before their turn came to behelped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace wassaid. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs.Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, preparedto plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when thelong expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur ofdelight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim,excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with | 1Dickens |
and heaps of flies, who were extending their inquisitive and adventurousperquisitions into all the glutinous little glasses near madame, felldead at the bottom. Their decease made no impression on the other fliesout promenading, who looked at them in the coolest manner (as if theythemselves were elephants, or something as far removed), until they metthe same fate. Curious to consider how heedless flies are!--perhaps theythought as much at Court that sunny summer day.A figure entering at the door threw a shadow on Madame Defarge which shefelt to be a new one. She laid down her knitting, and began to pin herrose in her head-dress, before she looked at the figure.It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose, thecustomers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop out of the“Good day, madame,” said the new-comer.She said it aloud, but added to herself, as she resumed her knitting:“Hah! Good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black | 1Dickens |
of anything but black bread and death. Is it not so, Jacques?”“It is so, Jacques,” Monsieur Defarge returned.At this second interchange of the Christian name, Madame Defarge, stillusing her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another grain ofcough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line.The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his emptydrinking vessel and smacked his lips.“Ah! So much the worse! A bitter taste it is that such poor cattlealways have in their mouths, and hard lives they live, Jacques. Am I“You are right, Jacques,” was the response of Monsieur Defarge.This third interchange of the Christian name was completed at the momentwhen Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, andslightly rustled in her seat.“Hold then! True!” muttered her husband. “Gentlemen--my wife!”The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with threeflourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, and | 1Dickens |
should ever wish to see me, you come and put your head in at the forgewindow and see Joe the blacksmith, there, at the old anvil, in the oldburnt apron, sticking to the old work. I’m awful dull, but I hope I’vebeat out something nigh the rights of this at last. And so GOD blessyou, dear old Pip, old chap, GOD bless you!”I had not been mistaken in my fancy that there was a simple dignity inhim. The fashion of his dress could no more come in its way when hespoke these words than it could come in its way in Heaven. He touchedme gently on the forehead, and went out. As soon as I could recovermyself sufficiently, I hurried out after him and looked for him in theneighbouring streets; but he was gone.It was clear that I must repair to our town next day, and in the firstflow of my repentance, it was equally clear that I must stay at Joe’s. | 1Dickens |
too, Pip,” said Joe, industriously cutting his bread, with his cheeseon it, in the palm of his left hand, and glancing at my untasted supperas if he thought of the time when we used to compare slices. “So mightWopsle. And the Jolly Bargemen might take it as a compliment.”“That’s just what I don’t want, Joe. They would make such a business ofit,—such a coarse and common business,—that I couldn’t bear myself.”“Ah, that indeed, Pip!” said Joe. “If you couldn’t abear yourself—”Biddy asked me here, as she sat holding my sister’s plate, “Have youthought about when you’ll show yourself to Mr. Gargery, and your sisterand me? You will show yourself to us; won’t you?”“Biddy,” I returned with some resentment, “you are so exceedingly quickthat it’s difficult to keep up with you.”(“She always were quick,” observed Joe.)“If you had waited another moment, Biddy, you would have heard me saythat I shall bring my clothes here in a bundle one evening,—most likely | 1Dickens |
pieces,—and as it gets older and stronger it will tear deeper,—loveher, love her, love her!”Never had I seen such passionate eagerness as was joined to herutterance of these words. I could feel the muscles of the thin armround my neck swell with the vehemence that possessed her.“Hear me, Pip! I adopted her, to be loved. I bred her and educated her,to be loved. I developed her into what she is, that she might be loved.She said the word often enough, and there could be no doubt that shemeant to say it; but if the often repeated word had been hate insteadof love—despair—revenge—dire death—it could not have sounded from herlips more like a curse.“I’ll tell you,” said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper,“what real love is. It is blind devotion, unquestioningself-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourselfand against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the | 1Dickens |
“Of course I’ll wait,” said Alice: “and thank you very much for comingso far—and for the song—I liked it very much.”“I hope so,” the Knight said doubtfully: “but you didn’t cry so much asI thought you would.”So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly away into theforest. “It won’t take long to see him _off_, I expect,” Alice said toherself, as she stood watching him. “There he goes! Right on his headas usual! However, he gets on again pretty easily—that comes of havingso many things hung round the horse—” So she went on talking toherself, as she watched the horse walking leisurely along the road, andthe Knight tumbling off, first on one side and then on the other. Afterthe fourth or fifth tumble he reached the turn, and then she waved herhandkerchief to him, and waited till he was out of sight.“I hope it encouraged him,” she said, as she turned to run down the | 0Caroll |
necessary to take her there, and could not have returned to Coombe Tracey until the early hours of the morning. Such an excursion could not be kept secret. The probability was, therefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, a part of the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again I had reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every path by which I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet the more I thought of the lady’s face and of her manner the more I felt that something was being held back from me. Why should she turn so pale? Why should she fight against every admission until it was forced from her? Why should she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy? Surely the explanation of all this could not be as innocent as she would have me believe. For the moment I | 2Doyle |
the Jack, “and gone down.”“A four-oared galley, did you say?” said I.“A four,” said the Jack, “and two sitters.”“Did they come ashore here?”“They put in with a stone two-gallon jar for some beer. I’d ha’ beenglad to pison the beer myself,” said the Jack, “or put some rattling“_I_ know why,” said the Jack. He spoke in a slushy voice, as if muchmud had washed into his throat.“He thinks,” said the landlord, a weakly meditative man with a paleeye, who seemed to rely greatly on his Jack,—“he thinks they was, what“_I_ knows what I thinks,” observed the Jack.“_You_ thinks Custom ’Us, Jack?” said the landlord.“I do,” said the Jack.“Then you’re wrong, Jack.”In the infinite meaning of his reply and his boundless confidence inhis views, the Jack took one of his bloated shoes off, looked into it,knocked a few stones out of it on the kitchen floor, and put it onagain. He did this with the air of a Jack who was so right that he | 1Dickens |
“Heaven knows we don’t,” returned Miss Pross, “but have no fear for me.Take me in at the cathedral, at Three o’Clock, or as near it as you can,and I am sure it will be better than our going from here. I feel certainof it. There! Bless you, Mr. Cruncher! Think-not of me, but of the livesthat may depend on both of us!”This exordium, and Miss Pross’s two hands in quite agonised entreatyclasping his, decided Mr. Cruncher. With an encouraging nod or two, heimmediately went out to alter the arrangements, and left her by herselfto follow as she had proposed.The having originated a precaution which was already in course ofexecution, was a great relief to Miss Pross. The necessity of composingher appearance so that it should attract no special notice in thestreets, was another relief. She looked at her watch, and it was twentyminutes past two. She had no time to lose, but must get ready at once. | 1Dickens |
suddenly break upon him that he would adapt his epitaph to theoccasion, before he went on to say) “And there weren’t no objection onyour part, and Pip it were the great wish of your hart!”It was quite in vain for me to endeavour to make him sensible that heought to speak to Miss Havisham. The more I made faces and gestures tohim to do it, the more confidential, argumentative, and polite, hepersisted in being to Me.“Have you brought his indentures with you?” asked Miss Havisham.“Well, Pip, you know,” replied Joe, as if that were a littleunreasonable, “you yourself see me put ’em in my ’at, and therefore youknow as they are here.” With which he took them out, and gave them, notto Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear goodfellow,—I _know_ I was ashamed of him,—when I saw that Estella stood atthe back of Miss Havisham’s chair, and that her eyes laughed | 1Dickens |
would have flung it at his adversary’s head, but for our entertainer’sdexterously seizing it at the instant when it was raised for that“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Jaggers, deliberately putting down the glass, andhauling out his gold repeater by its massive chain, “I am exceedinglysorry to announce that it’s half past nine.”On this hint we all rose to depart. Before we got to the street door,Startop was cheerily calling Drummle “old boy,” as if nothing hadhappened. But the old boy was so far from responding, that he would noteven walk to Hammersmith on the same side of the way; so Herbert and I,who remained in town, saw them going down the street on opposite sides;Startop leading, and Drummle lagging behind in the shadow of thehouses, much as he was wont to follow in his boat.As the door was not yet shut, I thought I would leave Herbert there fora moment, and run upstairs again to say a word to my guardian. I found | 1Dickens |
timid, he gave me to understand that the Devil lived in a black cornerof the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it wasnecessary to make up the fire, once in seven years, with a live boy,and that I might consider myself fuel. When I became Joe’s ’prentice,Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displacehim; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything,or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that healways beat his sparks in my direction, and that whenever I sang OldClem, he came in out of time.Dolge Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe ofmy half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had justgot a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but byand by he said, leaning on his hammer,— | 1Dickens |
please to read this VERY carefully.The world contains many THINGS (such as "Buns", "Babies", "Beetles"."Battledores". &c.); and these Things possess many ATTRIBUTES(such as "baked", "beautiful", "black", "broken", &c.: in fact,whatever can be "attributed to", that is "said to belong to", anyThing, is an Attribute). Whenever we wish to mention a Thing, weuse a SUBSTANTIVE: when we wish to mention an Attribute, we usean ADJECTIVE. People have asked the question "Can a Thing existwithout any Attributes belonging to it?" It is a very puzzlingquestion, and I'm not going to try to answer it: let us turn upour noses, and treat it with contemptuous silence, as if it reallywasn't worth noticing. But, if they put it the other way, and ask"Can an Attribute exist without any Thing for it to belong to?", wemay say at once "No: no more than a Baby could go a railway-journeywith no one to take care of it!" You never saw "beautiful" floating | 0Caroll |
cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more ofgravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"Scrooge was not much in the habit of crackingjokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any meanswaggish then. The truth is, that he tried to besmart, as a means of distracting his own attention,and keeping down his terror; for the spectre's voicedisturbed the very marrow in his bones.To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silencefor a moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the verydeuce with him. There was something very awful,too, in the spectre's being provided with an infernalatmosphere of its own. Scrooge could not feel ithimself, but this was clearly the case; for though theGhost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts,and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour"You see this toothpick?" said Scrooge, returningquickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned;and wishing, though it were only for a second, to | 1Dickens |
there. Kindly raise that small ivory box with its assistance. Place ithere among the papers. Good! You can now go and fetch Mr. CulvertonSmith, of 13, Lower Burke Street.”To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened,for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous toleave him. However, he was as eager now to consult the person named ashe had been obstinate in refusing.“I never heard the name,” said I.“Possibly not, my good Watson. It may surprise you to know that the manupon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man, buta planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra, nowvisiting London. An outbreak of the disease upon his plantation, whichwas distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with somerather far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person, and Idid not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware that | 2Doyle |
the newspapers,—and with some shining black portraits on the walls,which my unartistic eye regarded as a composition of hardbake andsticking-plaster. Here, in a corner my indentures were duly signed andattested, and I was “bound”; Mr. Pumblechook holding me all the whileas if we had looked in on our way to the scaffold, to have those littleWhen we had come out again, and had got rid of the boys who had beenput into great spirits by the expectation of seeing me publiclytortured, and who were much disappointed to find that my friends weremerely rallying round me, we went back to Pumblechook’s. And there mysister became so excited by the twenty-five guineas, that nothing wouldserve her but we must have a dinner out of that windfall at the BlueBoar, and that Pumblechook must go over in his chaise-cart, and bringthe Hubbles and Mr. Wopsle.It was agreed to be done; and a most melancholy day I passed. For, it | 1Dickens |
he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delightedIt was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening to themoaning of the wind, and thinking what a solemn thing itwas to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknownabyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as Death: itwas a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to heara hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scroogeto recognise it as his own nephew's and to find himself in abright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smilingby his side, and looking at that same nephew with approving"Ha, ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha, ha, ha!"If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know aman more blest in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I cansay is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me,and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that | 1Dickens |
“Why, n-no; not to me.” He said this with the air of one carefullyreckoning up and striking a balance. “Not directly profitable. That is,it doesn’t pay me anything, and I have to—keep myself.”This certainly had not a profitable appearance, and I shook my head asif I would imply that it would be difficult to lay by much accumulativecapital from such a source of income.“But the thing is,” said Herbert Pocket, “that you look about you._That’s_ the grand thing. You are in a counting-house, you know, andyou look about you.”It struck me as a singular implication that you couldn’t be out of acounting-house, you know, and look about you; but I silently deferred“Then the time comes,” said Herbert, “when you see your opening. Andyou go in, and you swoop upon it and you make your capital, and thenthere you are! When you have once made your capital, you have nothingto do but employ it.” | 1Dickens |
the bride’s manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note asthe dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, andof her very significant allusion to claim-jumping—which in miners’parlance means taking possession of that which another person has aprior claim to—the whole situation became absolutely clear. She hadgone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previoushusband—the chances being in favour of the latter.”“And how in the world did you find them?”“It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information inhis hands the value of which he did not himself know. The initialswere, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still wasit to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of themost select London hotels.”“How did you deduce the select?”“By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a | 2Doyle |
was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency.Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and thetwo-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavymortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence there, living thehorrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, mystepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions,obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take amedical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professionalskill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In afit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had beenperpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death andnarrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long termof imprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose and“When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, theyoung widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister | 2Doyle |
the flies, but not before.”All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in theevening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had not comeback yet. It was nearly ten o’clock before he entered, looking pale andworn. He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loafhe devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of“You are hungry,” I remarked.“Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since“Not a bite. I had no time to think of it.”“And how have you succeeded?”“You have a clue?”“I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not longremain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish trade-markupon them. It is well thought of!”“What do you mean?”He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces hesqueezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and thrust | 2Doyle |
the case of a shock from which he has recovered, so completely, as tobe a highly intelligent man, capable of close application of mind, andgreat exertion of body, and of constantly making fresh additions to hisstock of knowledge, which was already very large. But, unfortunately,there has been,” he paused and took a deep breath--“a slight relapse.”The Doctor, in a low voice, asked, “Of how long duration?”“Nine days and nights.”“How did it show itself? I infer,” glancing at his hands again, “in theresumption of some old pursuit connected with the shock?”“That is the fact.”“Now, did you ever see him,” asked the Doctor, distinctly andcollectedly, though in the same low voice, “engaged in that pursuit“And when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respects--or in allrespects--as he was then?”“I think in all respects.”“You spoke of his daughter. Does his daughter know of the relapse?”“No. It has been kept from her, and I hope will always be kept from her. | 1Dickens |
“So I have heard.”“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King ofScandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She isherself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conductwould bring the matter to an end.”“Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know thatshe will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. Shehas the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the mostresolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are nolengths to which she would not go—none.”“You are sure that she has not sent it yet?”“Because she has said that she would send it on the day when thebetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.”“Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That isvery fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into | 2Doyle |
“See you,” said madame, “I care nothing for this Doctor, I. He may wearhis head or lose it, for any interest I have in him; it is all one tome. But, the Evrémonde people are to be exterminated, and the wife andchild must follow the husband and father.”“She has a fine head for it,” croaked Jacques Three. “I have seen blueeyes and golden hair there, and they looked charming when Samson heldthem up.” Ogre that he was, he spoke like an epicure.Madame Defarge cast down her eyes, and reflected a little.“The child also,” observed Jacques Three, with a meditative enjoymentof his words, “has golden hair and blue eyes. And we seldom have a childthere. It is a pretty sight!”“In a word,” said Madame Defarge, coming out of her short abstraction,“I cannot trust my husband in this matter. Not only do I feel, sincelast night, that I dare not confide to him the details of my projects; | 1Dickens |
Of a sudden, he stopped, took the cork out of his bottle, and tossed itaway. Light as it was, I heard it fall like a plummet. He swallowedslowly, tilting up the bottle by little and little, and now he lookedat me no more. The last few drops of liquor he poured into the palm ofhis hand, and licked up. Then, with a sudden hurry of violence andswearing horribly, he threw the bottle from him, and stooped; and I sawin his hand a stone-hammer with a long heavy handle.The resolution I had made did not desert me, for, without uttering onevain word of appeal to him, I shouted out with all my might, andstruggled with all my might. It was only my head and my legs that Icould move, but to that extent I struggled with all the force, untilthen unknown, that was within me. In the same instant I heard | 1Dickens |
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is postedwith the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distributionmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and anyadditional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional termswill be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all worksposted with the permission of the copyright holder found at thebeginning of this work.1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of thiswork or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute thiselectronic work, or any part of this electronic work, withoutprominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 withactive links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, includingany word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access | 2Doyle |
described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age andposition. We had, however, an aunt, my mother’s maiden sister, MissHonoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionallyallowed to pay short visits at this lady’s house. Julia went there atChristmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, towhom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement whenmy sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but withina fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, theterrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only companion.”Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closedand his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now andglanced across at his visitor.“Pray be precise as to details,” said he.“It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is | 2Doyle |
the tide in his favour met with some unexplained check (not intelligibleto the Doctor), which led to a few words of secret conference. That,the man sitting as President had then informed Doctor Manette thatthe prisoner must remain in custody, but should, for his sake, be heldinviolate in safe custody. That, immediately, on a signal, the prisonerwas removed to the interior of the prison again; but, that he, theDoctor, had then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain andassure himself that his son-in-law was, through no malice or mischance,delivered to the concourse whose murderous yells outside the gate hadoften drowned the proceedings, that he had obtained the permission, andhad remained in that Hall of Blood until the danger was over.The sights he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and sleep byintervals, shall remain untold. The mad joy over the prisoners who weresaved, had astounded him scarcely less than the mad ferocity against | 1Dickens |
out of the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in my veins. “Oh, my God!” I gasped. “What is it? What does it mean?” Holmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic outline at the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head thrust forward, his face peering into the darkness. “Hush!” he whispered. “Hush!” The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it burst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before. “Where is it?” Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of his voice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul. “Where is it, Watson?” “There, I think.” I pointed into the darkness. Again the agonised cry swept through the silent night, louder and much nearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep, | 2Doyle |
“What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?”“Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself formed“Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastleseemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible that hiswife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fearshe should be taken to an asylum, and that he humours her fancies inevery way in order to prevent an outbreak?”“That is a possible solution—in fact, as matters stand, it is the mostprobable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice householdfor a young lady.”“But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!”“Well, yes, of course the pay is good—too good. That is what makes meuneasy. Why should they give you £ 120 a year, when they could havetheir pick for £ 40? There must be some strong reason behind.” | 2Doyle |
you, years and years. As to what I dare, I’m a old bird now, as hasdared all manner of traps since first he was fledged, and I’m notafeerd to perch upon a scarecrow. If there’s Death hid inside of it,there is, and let him come out, and I’ll face him, and then I’llbelieve in him and not afore. And now let me have a look at myOnce more, he took me by both hands and surveyed me with an air ofadmiring proprietorship: smoking with great complacency all the while.It appeared to me that I could do no better than secure him some quietlodging hard by, of which he might take possession when Herbertreturned: whom I expected in two or three days. That the secret must beconfided to Herbert as a matter of unavoidable necessity, even if Icould have put the immense relief I should derive from sharing it withhim out of the question, was plain to me. But it was by no means so | 1Dickens |
stuffing himself, and making obsequious movements to catch myattention. The moment he succeeded, he came over to me (breathingsherry and crumbs), and said in a subdued voice, “May I, dear sir?” anddid. I then descried Mr. and Mrs. Hubble; the last-named in a decentspeechless paroxysm in a corner. We were all going to “follow,” andwere all in course of being tied up separately (by Trabb) into“Which I meantersay, Pip,” Joe whispered me, as we were being what Mr.Trabb called “formed” in the parlour, two and two,—and it wasdreadfully like a preparation for some grim kind of dance; “which Imeantersay, sir, as I would in preference have carried her to thechurch myself, along with three or four friendly ones wot come to itwith willing harts and arms, but it were considered wot the neighbourswould look down on such and would be of opinions as it were wanting in“Pocket-handkerchiefs out, all!” cried Mr. Trabb at this point, in a | 1Dickens |
“Yes,” said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “It isso. I know all about McCarthy.”The old man sank his face in his hands. “God help me!” he cried. “But Iwould not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word thatI would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes.”“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Holmes gravely.“I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It wouldbreak her heart—it will break her heart when she hears that I am“It may not come to that,” said Holmes.“I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter whorequired my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. YoungMcCarthy must be got off, however.”“I am a dying man,” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes for years. Mydoctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would | 2Doyle |
that looked ill. In the hunted air of the people there was yet somewild-beast thought of the possibility of turning at bay. Depressed andslinking though they were, eyes of fire were not wanting among them; norcompressed lips, white with what they suppressed; nor foreheads knittedinto the likeness of the gallows-rope they mused about enduring, orinflicting. The trade signs (and they were almost as many as the shops)were, all, grim illustrations of Want. The butcher and the porkmanpainted up, only the leanest scrags of meat; the baker, the coarsest ofmeagre loaves. The people rudely pictured as drinking in the wine-shops,croaked over their scanty measures of thin wine and beer, and weregloweringly confidential together. Nothing was represented in aflourishing condition, save tools and weapons; but, the cutler’s knivesand axes were sharp and bright, the smith’s hammers were heavy, and thegunmaker’s stock was murderous. The crippling stones of the pavement,with their many little reservoirs of mud and water, had no footways, but | 1Dickens |
his hand, and we both felt happy.“How long, dear Joe?”“Which you meantersay, Pip, how long have your illness lasted, dear old“It’s the end of May, Pip. To-morrow is the first of June.”“And have you been here all that time, dear Joe?”“Pretty nigh, old chap. For, as I says to Biddy when the news of yourbeing ill were brought by letter, which it were brought by the post,and being formerly single he is now married though underpaid for a dealof walking and shoe-leather, but wealth were not a object on his part,and marriage were the great wish of his hart—”“It is so delightful to hear you, Joe! But I interrupt you in what you“Which it were,” said Joe, “that how you might be amongst strangers,and that how you and me having been ever friends, a wisit at such amoment might not prove unacceptabobble. And Biddy, her word were, ‘Goto him, without loss of time.’ That,” said Joe, summing up with his | 1Dickens |
with her hand on my shoulder, but more and more slowly. At last shestopped before the fire, and said, after muttering and looking at it“This is my birthday, Pip.”I was going to wish her many happy returns, when she lifted her stick.“I don’t suffer it to be spoken of. I don’t suffer those who were herejust now, or any one to speak of it. They come here on the day, butthey dare not refer to it.”Of course _I_ made no further effort to refer to it.“On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap ofdecay,” stabbing with her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on thetable, but not touching it, “was brought here. It and I have worn awaytogether. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth ofmice have gnawed at me.”She held the head of her stick against her heart as she stood looking | 1Dickens |
giving them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner round thewine-shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness and reposeof spirit, and became absorbed in it.“Gentlemen,” said her husband, who had kept his bright eye observantlyupon her, “good day. The chamber, furnished bachelor-fashion, that youwished to see, and were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on thefifth floor. The doorway of the staircase gives on the little courtyardclose to the left here,” pointing with his hand, “near to the window ofmy establishment. But, now that I remember, one of you has already beenthere, and can show the way. Gentlemen, adieu!”They paid for their wine, and left the place. The eyes of MonsieurDefarge were studying his wife at her knitting when the elderlygentleman advanced from his corner, and begged the favour of a word.“Willingly, sir,” said Monsieur Defarge, and quietly stepped with him toTheir conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the first | 1Dickens |
breathed, match in hand, but I could only see his lips, and the bluepoint of the match; even those but fitfully. The tinder was damp,—nowonder there,—and one after another the sparks died out.The man was in no hurry, and struck again with the flint and steel. Asthe sparks fell thick and bright about him, I could see his hands, andtouches of his face, and could make out that he was seated and bendingover the table; but nothing more. Presently I saw his blue lips again,breathing on the tinder, and then a flare of light flashed up, andWhom I had looked for, I don’t know. I had not looked for him. Seeinghim, I felt that I was in a dangerous strait indeed, and I kept my eyesHe lighted the candle from the flaring match with great deliberation,and dropped the match, and trod it out. Then he put the candle awayfrom him on the table, so that he could see me, and sat with his arms | 1Dickens |
man stood in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him,addressed him by his name.“Your servant,” said Mr. Lorry. “Do you know me?”He was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from forty-fiveto fifty years of age. For answer he repeated, without any change of“Do you know me?”“I have seen you somewhere.”“Perhaps at my wine-shop?”Much interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: “You come from Doctor“Yes. I come from Doctor Manette.”“And what says he? What does he send me?”Defarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It bore thewords in the Doctor’s writing: “Charles is safe, but I cannot safely leave this place yet. I have obtained the favour that the bearer has a short note from Charles to his wife. Let the bearer see his wife.”It was dated from La Force, within an hour.“Will you accompany me,” said Mr. Lorry, joyfully relieved after reading | 1Dickens |
followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cry of surprise andalarm he caught him by the collar and threw him back into the room.Before our prisoner had recovered his balance the door was shut andHolmes standing with his back against it. The man glared round him,staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. With the shock, hisbroad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped down from hislips, and there were the long light beard and the soft, handsomedelicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter.Holmes gave a whistle of surprise.“You can write me down an ass this time, Watson,” said he. “This wasnot the bird that I was looking for.”“Who is he?” asked Mycroft eagerly.“The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head of theSubmarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the cards. He iscoming to. I think that you had best leave his examination to me.” | 2Doyle |
they ask of me, the subordinate; but you’ll never catch ’em asking anyquestions of my principal.”“Is this young gentleman one of the ’prentices or articled ones of youroffice?” asked the turnkey, with a grin at Mr. Wemmick’s humour.“There he goes again, you see!” cried Wemmick, “I told you so! Asksanother question of the subordinate before his first is dry! Well,supposing Mr. Pip is one of them?”“Why then,” said the turnkey, grinning again, “he knows what Mr.“Yah!” cried Wemmick, suddenly hitting out at the turnkey in afacetious way, “you’re dumb as one of your own keys when you have to dowith my principal, you know you are. Let us out, you old fox, or I’llget him to bring an action against you for false imprisonment.”The turnkey laughed, and gave us good day, and stood laughing at usover the spikes of the wicket when we descended the steps into the“Mind you, Mr. Pip,” said Wemmick, gravely in my ear, as he took my arm | 1Dickens |
tell you beforehand I am awful dull, most awful dull), Mrs. Joe mustn’tsee too much of what we’re up to. It must be done, as I may say, on thesly. And why on the sly? I’ll tell you why, Pip.”He had taken up the poker again; without which, I doubt if he couldhave proceeded in his demonstration.“Your sister is given to government.”“Given to government, Joe?” I was startled, for I had some shadowy idea(and I am afraid I must add, hope) that Joe had divorced her in afavour of the Lords of the Admiralty, or Treasury.“Given to government,” said Joe. “Which I meantersay the government of“And she an’t over partial to having scholars on the premises,” Joecontinued, “and in partickler would not be over partial to my being ascholar, for fear as I might rise. Like a sort of rebel, don’t youI was going to retort with an inquiry, and had got as far as “Why—” | 1Dickens |
should not renew his attack. Then, with a snarl of anger, he left meand entered the cottage from which I had just come. I turned to thankmy preserver, who stood beside me in the roadway.“Well, Watson,” said he, “a very pretty hash you have made of it! Irather think you had better come back with me to London by the nightAn hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, wasseated in my private room at the hotel. His explanation of his suddenand opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that hecould get away from London, he determined to head me off at the nextobvious point of my travels. In the disguise of a workingman he had satin the _cabaret_ waiting for my appearance.“And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dearWatson,” said he. “I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunderwhich you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding has been to | 2Doyle |
be--unless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligation--kept inviolatebetween them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had nosuspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none.“No,” said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; “I have referred it,I think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where thisgentleman is to be found.”The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the Bank, therewas a general set of the current of talkers past Mr. Lorry’s desk. Heheld the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked at it, in theperson of this plotting and indignant refugee; and Monseigneur looked atit in the person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and This, That,and The Other, all had something disparaging to say, in French or inEnglish, concerning the Marquis who was not to be found.“Nephew, I believe--but in any case degenerate successor--of thepolished Marquis who was murdered,” said one. “Happy to say, I never | 1Dickens |
to the oblivion of a prison for any length of time; if his wife hadimplored the king, the queen, the court, the clergy, for any tidings ofhim, and all quite in vain;--then the history of your father would havebeen the history of this unfortunate gentleman, the Doctor of Beauvais.”“I entreat you to tell me more, sir.”“I will. I am going to. You can bear it?”“I can bear anything but the uncertainty you leave me in at this“You speak collectedly, and you--_are_ collected. That’s good!” (Thoughhis manner was less satisfied than his words.) “A matter of business.Regard it as a matter of business--business that must be done. Nowif this doctor’s wife, though a lady of great courage and spirit,had suffered so intensely from this cause before her little child was“The little child was a daughter, sir.”“A daughter. A-a-matter of business--don’t be distressed. Miss, if thepoor lady had suffered so intensely before her little child was born, | 1Dickens |
twenty minutes to nine.“Look at me,” said Miss Havisham. “You are not afraid of a woman whohas never seen the sun since you were born?”I regret to state that I was not afraid of telling the enormous liecomprehended in the answer “No.”“Do you know what I touch here?” she said, laying her hands, one uponthe other, on her left side.“Yes, ma’am.” (It made me think of the young man.)“What do I touch?”She uttered the word with an eager look, and with strong emphasis, andwith a weird smile that had a kind of boast in it. Afterwards she kepther hands there for a little while, and slowly took them away as if“I am tired,” said Miss Havisham. “I want diversion, and I have donewith men and women. Play.”I think it will be conceded by my most disputatious reader, that shecould hardly have directed an unfortunate boy to do anything in the | 1Dickens |
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