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bread-and-butter, and trickled into my tea I saw my mother look

state of my mind In my forlorn state I became quite attached to

The days passed pretty much as they had passed before,

The speaker was not Dora No; the confidential friend, Miss

Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah Don’t repel him Don’t resent

rose-leaves, the tall press guarding all sorts of bottles and pots,

imprudent, has he, Mr Heep?’

They had postponed their breakfast on my account, and we sat

to make some more suitable and fortunate provision for him in

‘All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,’

respective employers were interested; which instructions were so

hearing her there with a broom, stood peeping out of window at

given me—the torturing impossibility of communicating with her,

How do you want me to go without harm to him, always smiling through the narrow eyes that don't give up.

tenderness he manifested in every reference to her on this

‘My love, Mas’r Davy—the pride and hope of my art—her that

‘How? Any how!’ said Dora

breakfast and was going to make the tea, Miss Murdstone gave her

‘Deuce take the man!’ said my aunt, sternly, ‘what’s he about?

‘Me handsome, Davy!’ said Peggotty ‘Lawk, no, my dear! But

‘Could I defend my conduct if I did not, sir?’ I returned, with all

David Copperfield

I AM A NEW BOY IN MORE SENSES THAN ONE

her hand, and still growled within himself like a little double-bass

WICKFIELD AND HEEP