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     FragmentWelcome to consult...n taken with an illness; whether I should have lain down in my
    lonely room, and languished through it in my usual solitary way,
    or whether anybody would have helped me out.

    When Mr. and Miss Murdstone were at home, I took my meals
    with them; in their absence, I ate and drank by myself. At all times
    I lounged about the house and neighbourhood quite disregarded,
    except that they were jealous of my making any friends: thinking,
    perhaps, that if I did, I might complain to someone. For this
    reason, though Mr. Chillip often asked me to go and see him (he
    was a widower, having, some years before that, lost a little small
    light-haired wife, whom I can just remember connecting in my

    Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

    f
    David Copperfield

    own thoughts with a pale tortoise-shell cat), it was but seldom that
    I enjoyed the happiness of passing an afternoon in his closet of a
    surgery; reading some book that was new to me, with the smell of
    the whole Pharmacopoeia coming up my nose, or pounding
    something in a mortar under his mild directions.

    For the same reason, added no doubt to the old dislike of her, I
    was seldom allowed to visit Peggotty. Faithful to her promise, she
    either came to see me, or met me somewhere near, once every
    week, and never empty-handed; but many and bitter were the
    disappointments I had, in being refused permission to pay a visit
    to her at her house. Some few times, however, at long intervals, I
    was allowed to go there; and then I found out that Mr. Barkis was
    something of a miser, or as Peggotty dutifully expressed it, was ‘a
    little near’, and kept a heap of money in a box under his bed,
    which he pretended was only full of coats and trousers. In this
    coffer, his riches hid themselves with such a tenacious modesty,
    that the smallest instalments could only be tempted out by artifice;
    so that Peggotty had to prepare a long and elaborate scheme, a
    very Gunpowder Plot, for every Saturday’s expenses.

    All this time I was so conscious of the waste of any promise I
    had given, and of my being utterly neglected, that I should have
    been perfectly miserable, I have no doubt, but for the old books.
    They were my only comfort; and I was as true to them as they
    were to me, and read them over and over I don’t know how many
    times more.

    I now approach a period of my life, which I can never lose the
    remembrance of, while I remember anything: and the recollection
    of which has often, without my invocation, come before me like a
    ghost, and haunted happier times.

    Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

    f
    David Copperfield

    I had been out, one day, loitering somewhere, in the listless,
    meditative manner that my way of life engendered, when, turning
    the corner of a lane near our house, I came upon Mr. Murdstone
    walking with a gentleman. I was confused, and was going by them,
    when the gentleman cried:

    ‘What! Brooks!’

    ‘No, sir, David Copperfield,’ I said.

    ‘Don’t tell me. You are Brooks,’ said the gentleman. ‘You are
    Brooks of Sheffield. That’s your name.’

    At these words, I observed the gentleman more attentively. His
    laugh coming to my remembrance too, I knew him to be Mr.
    Quinion, whom I had gone over to Lowestoft with Mr. Murdstone
    to see, before—it is no matter—I need not recall when.

    ‘And how do you get on, and where are you being educated,
    Brooks?’ said Mr. Quinion.

    He had put his hand upon my shoulder, and turned me about,
    to walk with them. I did not know what to reply, and glanced
    dubiously at Mr. Murdstone.

    ‘He is at home at present,’ said the latter. ‘He is not being
    educated anywhere. I don’t know what to do with him. He is a
    difficult subject.’

    That old, double look was on me for a moment; and then his
    eyes darkened with a frown, as it turned, in its aversion,
    elsewhere.

    ‘Humph!’ said Mr. Quinion, looking at us both, I thought. ‘Fine
    weather!’

    Silence ensued, and I was considering how I could best
    disengage my shoulder from his hand, and go away, when he said:

    ‘I suppose you are a pretty sharp fellow still? Eh, Brooks?’

    Charles Dickens ElecBook "};

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