Charles Dickens' Works: Little dorrit

Front Cover
G.W. Carleton, 1885
 

Contents

I
11
III
25
IV
37
V
50
VI
53
VIII
64
IX
74
X
84
XXXVIII
412
XXXIX
420
XL
435
XLI
440
XLII
455
XLIII
458
XLIV
473
XLV
488

XI
95
XII
108
XIII
127
XIV
137
XV
146
XVI
167
XVII
179
XVIII
188
XIX
201
XX
210
XXI
219
XXII
230
XXIII
243
XXIV
252
XXV
260
XXVI
276
XXVII
291
XXVIII
301
XXIX
314
XXX
326
XXXI
333
XXXII
341
XXXIII
356
XXXIV
371
XXXV
380
XXXVI
390
XXXVII
399
XLVI
499
XLVII
510
XLVIII
525
XLIX
533
L
538
LI
550
LII
567
LIII
577
LIV
593
LV
600
LVI
610
LVII
617
LVIII
632
LIX
642
LX
651
LXI
657
LXII
670
LXIII
680
LXIV
689
LXV
697
LXVI
712
LXVII
730
LXVIII
738
LXIX
761
LXX
770
LXXI
778
LXXII
788

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 110 - Boards sat upon them, secretaries minuted upon them, commissioners gabbled about them, clerks registered, entered, checked, and ticked them off, and they melted away. In short, all the business of the country went through the circumlocution office, except the business that never came out of it ; and its name was legion.
Page 37 - Melancholy streets in a penitential garb of soot, steeped the souls of the people who were condemned to look at them out of windows, in dire despondency.
Page 40 - DROWNED, was weeping on the wet wall; he came at last to the house he sought. An old brick house, so dingy as to be all but black, standing by itself within a gateway. Before it, a square courtyard where a shrub or two and a patch of grass were as rank (which is saying much) as the iron railings enclosing them were rusty; behind it, a jumble of roots. It was a double house, with long, narrow, heavily-framed windows. Many years ago, it had had it in its mind to slide down sideways; it had been propped...
Page 462 - Father is rather vulgar, my dear. The word Papa, besides, gives a pretty form to the lips. Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, and prism, are all very good words for the lips : especially prunes and prism.
Page 167 - To review his life, was like descending a green tree in fruit and flower, and seeing all the branches wither and drop off one by one, as he came down towards them.
Page 227 - There was a classical daughter once — perhaps — who ministered to her father in his prison as her mother had ministered to her. Little Dorrit, though of the unheroic modern stock, and mere English, did much more in comforting her father's wasted heart upon her innocent breast, and turning to it a fountain of love and fidelity that never ran dry or waned through all his years of famine.
Page 245 - He did not shine in company ; he had not very much to say for himself ; he was a reserved man, with a broad, overhanging, watchful head, that particular kind of dull red colour in his cheeks which is rather stale than fresh, and a somewhat uneasy expression about his coat-cuffs, as if they were in his confidence, and had reasons for being anxious to hide his hands.

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