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brought out her work-box to her own table in the open window,
‘I don’t care who it is!’ cried my aunt, still shaking her head and
away I was so far from being warned off from Peggotty’s society,
‘I am not fond of professions of humility,’ I returned, ‘or
and speak out!’
about me, and a pledge to write three times a week and faithfully
What can I do? She doen’t ought to know any such, but I can’t
partly on the path, upon his face Whether he fell out in a fit, or got
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
me into tears I remember that I sat resting my head upon my
‘Clara, my dear,’ he said, when I had done his bidding, and he
surprised to find him a meeker man than I had thought, and less
whenever, at short intervals, she applied it to her eyes with both
receive this communication Still more so, by its contents Still
roaming up and down with little Em’ly, telling her my troubles,
the road; a house with long low lattice-windows bulging out still
theer, I wandered on as I had done afore The people was just as
Murdstone are already acquainted’
David Copperfield
‘lives down in Devonshire—one of ten Consequently, I am not so
here to the left, out of this gate,’ tracing his finger along the
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