The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (Google eBook)

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Charles Dickens
Macmillan, 1904 - 759 pages
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Page 448 - I shall prove to you, by a witness whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and, after...
Page 72 - The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that years have made, Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he. How closely he twineth, how tight he clings To his friend the huge Oak Tree!
Page 147 - His landlady, Mrs. Bardell the relict and sole executrix of a deceased custom-house officer was a comely woman of bustling manners and agreeable appearance, with a natural genius for cooking, improved by study and long practice into an exquisite talent.
Page 391 - ... of the reel, at the very moment when Mr Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily down. Mr Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind in skates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance. " Are you hurt? " inquired Mr Benjamin Allen, with...
Page 459 - I might be able to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door; but bein' only eyes, you see, my wision's limited.
Page 3 - That this Association has heard read, with feelings of unmingled satisfaction, and unqualified approval, the paper communicated by Samuel Pickwick, Esq., GCMPC f entitled "Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Ponds, with Some Observations on the Theory of Tittlebats...
Page 148 - Oh you kind, good, playful dear," said Mrs. Bardell ; and without more ado, she rose from her chair, and flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck, with a cataract of tears, and a chorus of sobs. " Bless my soul,
Page 429 - Poetry's unnat'ral ; no man ever talked poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin' day, or Warren's blackin' or Rowland's oil, or some o' them low fellows ; never you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy.
Page 458 - I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant in this case. Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller." " I mean to speak up, Sir," replied Sam, " I am in the service o' that 'ere gen'Pman, and a wery good service it is.
Page 449 - My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone indeed. The bill is down but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass but there is no invitation for them to inquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the house ; even the voice of the child is hushed ; his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps; his 'alley tors 'and his 'commoneys' are alike neglected ; he forgets the long familiar cry...

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